THE 


LAST  OF  THE  FORESTERS 


OR, 


HUMORS  ON  THE  BORDER; 


A    STORY    OF    THE 


Old  Virginia   Frontier. 


JOHN  ESTEN  COOKE, 

f/ 
AUTHOR  OP  "THE  VIRGINIA  COMEDIANS,"  "LEATHER  STOCKING    AND  SILK," 

"ELLIS,"    "THE    YOt'TH    OF    JEFFERSON,"    ETC. 


NEW- YORK  : 

DERBY  &   JACKSON,  119  NASSAU-STREET. 
CINCINNATI  :  H.   W.  DERBY  &  Co. 

i  856. 


ENTERED,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1856,  by 
DERBY    &    JACKSON, 

in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the 
Southern  District  of  New- York. 


RPMKI.I.,  PRINTERS,  79  JOHN-ST 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER 

I.— At  Apple  Orchard 9 

II. — Verty  and  his  Companions 12 

III. — Introduce*  a  Legal  Porcupine 17 

IV. — How  Verty  thought,  and  played,  and  dreamed 23 

V.— Winchester 30 

VI. — In  which  Mr.  Roundjacket  flourishes  his  ruler 33 

VII. — In  which  Mr.  Roundjacket  reads  his  great  Poem 37 

VIII. — How  Verty  shot  a  White  Pigeon 45 

IX.— Hawking  without  a  Hawk - 52 

X. — Verty  makes  the  acquaintance  of  Mr.  Jinks 58 

XI. — How  Verty  discovered  in  himself  a  great  fondness  for  Apples  61 

XII.— How  Strephon  talked  with  Chloe  in  an  Arbor ." 68 

XIII. — Verty  expresses  a  desire  to  imitate  Mr  Jinks 74 

XIV.— The  Thirteenth  of  October 80 

XV.— The  Pedlar  and  the  Necklace 84 

XVI. — Mr.  Roundjacket  makes  himself  agreeable 88 

XVII.— Mr.  Jinks  at  Home 95 

XVIII. — How  Miss  Lavinia  developed  her  Theories  on  Matrimony.  101 

XIX  —Only  a  few  tears 109 

XX. — How  Miss  Fanny  slammed  the  door  in  Verty '•  face 113 

XXI. — In    which    Redbud  suppresses  her   feelings,  and  behaves 

with    decorum 119 

XXII  —How  Mins  Sallianna  fell  in  love  with  Verty 123 

\\IIl— The  Result 129 

\  \l  V. — Of  the  effect  of  Verty's  violin-playing  upon  Mr.  Rushton.  136 

XXV. — A  Young  Gentleman  just  from  William  and  Mary  College  144 

XXVI— The  Necklace 153 

XX  VII. -Philosophical 158 

XXVIII. — Consequences  of  Miss  Sallianna's  passion  for  Verty 162 

\  \  I  X — Interchange  of  Compliments 174 

\  \  \  —What  occurred  at  Bousch's  Tavern 177 

XXXI. — Mr.  Jinks  on  Horseback  going  to  take  Revenge 185 

\\XII-Anold  Bible 191 

\\  Mil  —Fanny's  views  upon    Heraldry 195 

\  \  \I  V.— How  Miss  Sallianna  alluded  to  vipers, and  fell  into  hysteric* .  .  202 


982248 


IV  CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER 

XXXV. — How  Miss  Fanny  made  merry  with  the  passion  of  Mr. 

Verty * 208 

XXXVI.— Ralph  makes  love  to  Miss  Sallianna 214 

XXXVII. — Verty  states  his  private  opinion  of  Miss  Sallianna 220 

XXXVIII  — How  Longears  showed  his  gallantry  in  Fanny's  service.  225 

XXXIX.— I'p  the  Hill,  and  under  the  Chestnut* 231 

XL.— I'nder  the  (Greenwood  Tree 236 

XLI. — I'se  of  Coats  in  a  Storm 214 

XLI  I  --How  Mr.  Jinks  requested  Ralph  to  hold  him 250 

X  LI  1 1. — Verty's  heart  goes  away  in  a  chariot 258 

XLIV — In  which  the  History  returns  to  Apple  Orchard 261 

XLV.— Hours  in  the  Octobe'r  Woods 264 

X L VI. — The  Happy  Autumn  Fields 272 

XLVII. — Days  that  are  no  more 279 

XLVIII  —The  Harvest  Moon 289 

XLIX. — Back  to  Winchester,  where  Editorial  Iniquity  is  discoursed 

of. 293 

L. — How  Verty  discovered  a  Portrait,  and  what  ensued 299 

LI. — A  Child  and  a  Logician 305 

LII. — How  Mr.  Jinks  determined  to  spare  Verty 312 

LI  1 1  — Projects  of  Revenge,  involving  Historical  details 317 

LIV.— Exploits  of  Fodder 325 

LV.— Woman-traps  laid  by  Mr.  Jinks 330 

LVL— Takes  Verty  to  Mr  Ronndjacket'a 337 

LVII. — Contains  an  Extraordinary  Disclosure 341 

LVIII. — How  Mr   Rushton  proved  that  all  men  were  selfish,  him 
self  included 349 

LIX. — The  Portrait  smiles 355 

LX  —The  Lodge  in  the  Hills 363 

LXI.— Mrs.  O'Calligan's  Wooers 369 

LXIL—  Verty  Muses   377 

LXIII. — How  Verty  and  Miss  Lavinia  ran  a-tilt  at  each  other,  and 

who  was  overthrown 382 

LXIV.— The  Rose  of  Glengary 393 

LX V.—  Providence 398 

LXVI  — The  Hour  and  the  Necklace 402 

LX VI I. —How   St    Patrick     encountered  St.    Michael,    and  what 

ensued 408 

LXVIII.— The  End  of  the  Chain     413 

LXIX.— Conclusion...  .418 


PREFACE, 


PERHAPS  this  story  scarcely  needs  a  Preface,  but  the 
child  of  the  writer's  invention  comes  to  possess  a  place  in 
his  affections,  and  he  is  reluctant  to  send  it  forth  into  the 
wide  world,  without  something  in  the  nature  of  a  letter  of 
introduction,  asking  for  it  a  kindly  and  charitable  recep 
tion.  It  would  be  unjust  to  apply  to  this  volume  the  tests 
which  are  brought  to  bear  upon  an  elaborate  romance.  In 
his  narrative  of  the  adventures  of  Verty  and  Redbud,  the 
writer  has  not  endeavored  to  mount  into  the  regions  of 
tragedy,  or  chronicle  the  details  of  bloodshed  on  the  part 
of  heroes — but  rather,  to  find  in  a  picturesque  land  and 
period  such  traits  of  life  and  manners  as  are  calculated  to 
afford  innocent  entertainment.  Written  under  the  beau 
tiful  autumn  skies  of  our  beloved  Virginia,  the  author 
would  ask  for  the  work  only  a  mind  in  unison  with  the 
mood  of  the  narrative — asking  the  reader  to  laugh,  if  he 
can,  and,  above  all,  to  carry  with  him,  if  possible,  the 
beautiful  autumn  sunshine,  and  the  glories  of  the  moun 
tains. 

Of  the  fine  old  border  town,  in  which  many  of  the 
scenes  of  the  story  are  laid,  much  might  be  said,  if  it 
were  here  necessary,  that  Thomas  Lord  Fairfax,  Baron  of 
Cameron,  and  formerly  half-owner  of  Virginia,  sleeps 
there — that  Morgan,  the  Ney  of  the  Revolution,  after  all 
his  battles,  lies  there,  too,  as  though  to  show  how  nobles 
and  commoners,  lords  and  frontiersmen,  monarchists  and 
republicans,  are  equal  in  death — and  that  the  last  stones  of 


VI  PREFACE. 

old  Fort  Lnudonn,  built  by  Lieutenant,  afterwards  Gene 
ral,  Washington,  crumble  into  dust  there,  disappearing 
like  a  thousand  other  memorials  of  that  noble  period,  and 
the  giants  who  illustrated  it : — this,  and  much  more, 
might  be  said  of  Winchester,  the  old  heart  of  the  border, 
which  felt  every  blow,  and  poured  out  her  blood  freely  in 
behalf  of  the  frontier.  But  of  the  land  in  which  this  old 
sentinel  stands  it  is  impossible  to  speak  in  terms  of  ade 
quate  justice.  No  words  can  describe  the  loveliness  of  its 
fair  fields,  and  vainly  has  the  present  writer  tried  to  catch 
the  spirit  of  those  splendid  pictures,  which  the  valley  un 
rolls  in  autumn  days.  The  morning  splendors  and  mag 
nificent  sunsets — the  noble  river  and  blue  battlements, 
forever  escape  him.  It  is  in  the  midst  of  these  scenes  that 
he  has  endeavored  to  place  a  young  hunter — a  child  of  tho 
woods — and  to  show  how  his  wild  nature  was  impressed 
by  the  new  life  and  advancing  civilization  around  him. 
The  process  of  his  mental  development  is  the  chief  aim  of 
the  book. 

Of  the  other  personages  of  the  story  it  is  not  necessary 
here  to  speak — they  will  relieve  the  author  of  that  trouble ; 
yet  he  cannot  refrain  from  asking  in  advance  a  friendly 
consideration  for  Miss  Redbud.  He  trusts  that  her  sim 
plicity  and  innocence  will  gain  for  her  the  hearts  of  all 
who  admire  those  qualities  ;  and  that  in  consideration  of 
her  liking  for  her  friend  Verty,  that  these  friends  of  her 
own  will  bestow  a  portion  of  their  approbation  upon  the 
young  woodman  :  pity  him  when  he  incurs  the  displeasure 
of  Mr.  Jinks  :  sympathise  with  him  when  he  is  overwhelm 
ed  by  the  reproaches  of  Mr.  Roundjacket,  and  rejoice 
with  him  when,  in  accordance  with  the  strictest  rules  of 
poetic  justice,  he  is  rewarded  for  his  kindness  and  honesty 
by  the  possession  of  the  two  things  which  he  coveted  tho 
most  in  the  world. 

RICHMOND,  June,  1856. 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  FORESTERS. 


1  If  ice  shadoirs  have  offended, 
Think  but  this,  (and  all  is  mended,) 
That  you  hare  but  slumber' d  here 
While  these  visions  did  appear; 
And  this  weak  and  idle  theme 
No  more  yielding  tiuin  a  dream. 
Gentles,  do  not  reprehend." 

MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 


THE 


LAST  OF  THE  FORESTERS. 


CHAPTER   I.  ..:  ... 

AT    APPLE     ORCH4£.i>." 

ON  a  bright  October  morning,  when  the  last  century  was 
rapidly  going  down  hill,  and  all  old  things  began  to  give  way  to 
the  new,  the  sun  was  shining  in  upon  the  breakfast  room  at 
Apple  Orchard  with  a  joyous  splendor,  which,  perhaps,  he  had 
never  before  displayed  in  tarrying  at  that  domain,  or  any  other. 

Hut,  about  Apple  Orchard,  which  we  have  introduced  to  the 
reader  in  a  manner  somewhat  abrupt  and  unceremonious.  It 
was  one  of  those  old  wooden  houses,  which  dot  our  valleys  in 
Virginia  almost  at  every  turn— contented  with  their  absence  from 
the  gay  flashing  world  of  cities,  and  raising  proudly  their  moss- 
covered  roofs  between  the  branches  of  wide  spreading  oaks,  and 
haughty  pines,  and  locusts,  burdening  the  air  with  j>erfumc. 
Apple  Orchard  had  about  it  an  indefinable  air  of  moral  happiness 
and  domestic  comfort.  It  seemed  full  of  memories,  too ;  and 
you  would  have  said  that  innumerable  weddings  and  christenings 
had  taken  place  there,  time  out  of  mind,  leaving  their  influence 
on  the  old  homestead,  on  its  very  dormer-windows,  and  porch 
trcllia-work,  and  clambering  vines,  and  even  on  the  flags  before 
the  door,  worn  by  the  feet  of  children  and  slow  grandfathers. 

Within,  everything  wa»  quite  as  old-fashioned ,  over  the 

1 


10  AT  APPLE   ORCHAHD. 

mantel-piece  a  portrait,  ruftled  and  powdered,  hung;  in  the  cor 
ner  a  huge  clock  ticked  ;  by  the  window  stood  a  japanned  cabi 
net;  and  more  than  one  china  ornament,  in  deplorably  grotesque 
taste,  spoke  of  the  olden  time. 

This  \A  all  we  can  say  of  the  abode  of  Mr.  Adam  Summers, 
better  known  a<*  Squire  Summers,  except  that  we  may  add,  that 
Apple  Orchard  was  situated  not  very  far  from  Winchester,  and 
thus  looked  ujxm  the  beauty  of  that  lovely  valley  which  poor 
Virginia  exiles  sigh  for,  often,  far  away  from  it  in  other  lands. 

The  sun  shines  for  some  time  upon  the  well-ordered  room, 
WljCrein  the  break  fust-  table  is  set  forth,  and  in  whose  wide  country 
fire-p"hice  a  handful  of  Vsvigs  dispel  with  the  flame  which  wraps 
•  tlienr  •  tiie  •  C9*fl:  i)ra^i\Tg  Uiu  of  morning;  then  the  door  opens, 
arid  a  "iacly*  of  some  thirty  autumns,  with  long  raven  curls  and 
severe  aspect,  enters,  sailing  in  awful  state,  and  heralded  by 
music,  from  the  rattling  keys  which  agitate  themselves  in  the 
basket  on  her  arm,  drowning  the  rustle  of  her  dress.  This  is 
Miss  Lavinia,  the  Squire's  cousin,  who  has  continued  to  live 
with  him  since  the  death  of  his  wife,  some  years  since. 

The  severe  lady  is  superintending  the  movements  of  the  brisk 
negro  boy  who  attends  to  breakfast,  when  the  Squire  himself, 
a  fat,  rosy,  good-humored  old  gentleman,  in  short  breeches  and 
rufllcs,  makes  his  appearance,  rubbing  his  hands  and  laughing. 

Then,  behind  him,  rosier  than  h:r  father,  dewy  like  the  morn 
ing,  and  angelic  generally,  behold  our  little  heroine — Miss  Red- 
bud  Summers. 

Kedbud — she  received  this  pretty  name  when  she  was  a  baby, 
and  as  usually  befalls  Virginia  maidens,  never  has  been  able  to 
get  rid  of  it.  Kedbud  is  a  lovely  little  creature,  whom  it  is  a 
delight  to  look  upon.  She  has  a  profusion  of  light,  curling  hair, 
a  fine  fresh,  tender  complexion,  deep,  mild  eyes,  and  a  mouth  of 
that  innocent  and  artless  expression  which  characterizes  child 
hood.  She  is  about  sixteen,  and  has  just  emerged  from  short 
dresses,  by  particular  request  and  gracious  permission  from  Miss 


AT   APPLE  ORCHARD.  11 

Lnvinin,  who  is  major-<lomo  and  manager  in  general.  Kedbud  is, 
therefore,  clad  in  the  morning-dress  of  young  ladies  of  the 
period.  Her  sleeves  are  ornamented  with  fluttering  ribbon.*, 
and  her  hair  is  brushed  hack  in  the  fashion  now  styled  Pompa 
dour,  but  quite  unpowdered.  Her  ears,  for  even  heroines  are 
possessed  of  them,  are  weighed  down  by  heavy  golden  ear-rings, 
and  a  cloud  of  plain  lace  runs  round  her  neck,  and  gently  rubs 
her  throat.  Pensiveness  and  laughter  chase  each  other  over  her 
fre^h  little  face,  like  floating  clouds; — she  is  a  true  child  of  the 
South. 

The  Squire  sits  down  in  the  large  chair,  in  the  corner  of  the 
fire-place,  and  takes  Miss  Rcdbud  on  his  knee.  Then  commences 
a  prattle  on  the  part  of  the  young  lady,  interrupted  by  much 
laughter  from  the  old  gentleman ;  then  the  Squire  swears  pro 
fanely  at  indolent  Cnrear,  his  spaniel,  who,  lying  on  the  rug  before 
the  fire,  stretches  his  hind  feet  sleepily,  and  so  makes  an  assault 
upon  his  master's  stockings ;  then  breakfast  is  ready,  and  grace 
being  devoutly  said,  they  all  sit  down,  and  do  that  justice  to  the 
meal  which  Virginians  never  omit.  Redbud  is  the  soul  of  the 
room,  however,  and  even  insists  upon  a  romp  with  the  old  gentle 
man,  as  he  goes  forth  to  mount  his  horse. 

The  Squire  thus  disappears  toward  the  barn.  Miss  Lavinia 
superintends  the  household  operation  of  "washing  up  the  tea 
things,"  and  Redbud  puts  on  her  sun-bonnet,  and  goes  to  take  a 
stroll. 


CHAPTER  II. 

VERTY    AND    HIS    COMPANIONS. 

REDIU'D  is  sauntering  over  the  sward,  and  listening  to  the  wind 
in  the  beautiful  fallwoods,  when,  from  those  woods  which  stretch 
toward  the  West,  emerges  a  figure,  which  immediately  rivets  her 
attention.  It  is  a  young  man  of  about  eighteen,  mounted  on  a 
small,  shaggy-coated  horse,  and  clad  in  a  wild  forest  costume, 
which  defines  clearly  the  outline  of  a  person,  slender,  vigorous, 
and  graceful.  Over  his  brown  forehead  and  smiling  face,  droops 
a  wide  hat,  of  soft  white  fur,  below  which,  a  mass  of  dark 
chestnut  hair  nearly  covers  his  shoulders  with  its  exuberant  and 
tangled  curls.  Verty — for  this  is  Verty  the  son,  or  adopted  sou 
of  the  old  Indian  woman,  living  in  the  pine  hills  to  the  west — 
Verty  carries  in  one  hand  a  strange  weapon,  nothing  less  than  a 
long  cedar  bow,  and  a  sheaf  of  arrows ;  in  the  other,  which  also 
holds  his  rein,  the  antlers  of  a  stag,  huge  and  branching  in  all 
directions;  around  him  circle  two  noble  deer-hounds.  Verty 
strongly  resembles  an  amiable  wild  cat ;  and  when  he  sees  Ked- 
bucl,  smiles  more  than  ever. 

The  girl  runs  toward  him,  laughing  gajly — 

**  Oh,  Verty !"  she  says,  "  indeed  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you. 
Where  have  you  been  ?" 

With  which,  she  gives  him  her  hand. 

"  At  home,"  says  Verty,  with  his  bright,  but  dreamy  smile  ; 
"I've  got  the  antlers  for  the  Squire,  at  last." 

And  Verty  throws  the  rein  on  the  neck  of  his  little  horse,  who 
stands  perfectly  still,  and  leaps  lightly  to  the  ground. 


VERTY   AND  HIS  COMPANIONS.  13 

lie  stand*  for  a  moment  gazing  at  Redbud  wi.'h  his  dreamy 
and  smiling  eyes,  silent  in  the  sunshine  like  a  shadow,  then  he 
pushes  back  his  tangled  chestnut  curls,  and  laughs. 

4*  I  had  a  long  chase,'*  he  says. 

"For  the  deer!" 

"  Yes,"  says  Verty,  "  and  there  are  his  horns.  Oh,  how  bright 
you  look." 

Redbud  returns  his  smile. 

"  I  think  I  didn't  live  before  I  knew  you ;  but  that  was  long 
years  ago,"  says  Verty,  "  a  very  long  time  ago." 

And  leaning  for  a  moment  on  his  bow,  the  forest  boy  gazes 
with  his  singular  dreamy  look  on  Redbud,  who  smiles. 

44  Papa  has  pone  out  riding,"  she  says,  "  but  come,  let's  go  in, 
and  put  up  the  antlers." 

Verty  assents  readily  to  this,  and  speaking  to  his  horse  in  some 
outlandish  tongue,  leaves  him  standing  there,  and  accompanies 
Redbud  toward  the  house. 

"What  was  that  you  said?"  she  asked;  "I  didn't  under 
stand." 

"  Because  you  don't  know  Delaware,"  said  Wty,  smiling. 

"  Was  it  Indian  ?" 

44  Yes,  indeed.  I  said  to  Cloud — that's  his  name  you  know — 
I  told  him  to  crouch;  that  means,  in  hunter  language,  ktfp  still" 

*4  How  strange !" 

*4Is  it?  15ut  I  like  the  English  better,  because  you  don't 
speak  Delaware,  my  own  tongue ;  you  speak  English." 

"  Oh,  yes  !"  Redbud  says. 

44 1  don't  complain  of  your  not  speaking  Delaware,"  says 
Verty, 4*  for  how  could  you,  unless  via  mere  had  taught  you  1  She 
is  the  only  Indian  about  here." 

"  You  say  ma  mere — that  means,  4  my  mother,'  don't  it  ?" 

44 Yes;  oh,  she  knows  French,  too.  You  know  the  Indian 
and  the  French — I  wonder  who  the  French  are! — used  to  live 
and  tight  together." 


14  VERTY   AND   HIS  COMPANIONS. 

"Did  they?" 

Verty  nods,  and  replies — "In  the  old  days,  a  long,  long  time 
ago." 

Redbud  looks  down  for  a  moment,  as  they  walk  on  toward 
the  house.,  perusing  the  pebbles.  Then  she  raises  her  head  and 
says— 

"  How  did  you  ever  come  to  be  the  old  Indian  woman's  son, 
Verty  ?" 

Verty's  dreamy  eyes  fjill  from  the  gky,  where  a  circling  hawk 
had  attracted  his  attention,  to  Redbud' s  face. 

"  A  nan  ?"  he  says. 

Redbud  greets  this  exhibition  of  inattention  with  a  little  pout, 
which  is  far  from  unbecoming,  and  too  frank  to  conceal  anything, 
says,  smiling — 

"  You  are  not  listening  to  me.  Indeed,  I  think  I  am  worth 
more  attention  than  that  hawk." 

"Oh  yes,  indeed  you  are!"  cries  Verty ;  "but  how  can  you 
keep  a  poor  Indian  boy  from  his  hunting?  How  that  fellow 
darts  now  !  I>ook  what  bright  claws  he  has !  Hey,  come  a  lit 
tle  nearer,  and  you  are  mine !" 

Verty  laughs,  and  takes  an  arrow. 

Kedbud  lays  her  hand  upon  his  arm.  Verty  looks  at  the 
hand,  then  at  her  bright  face,  laughing. 

"What's  the  matter?"  he  says. 

"  Don't  kill  the  poor  hawk." 

"  Poor  hawk  t  poor  chickens  !"  says  Verty,  smiling.  "  Who 
could  find  fault  with  me  for  killing  him?  Nothing  to  my  deer! 
You  ought  to  have  seen  the  chase,  Redbud ;  how  I  ran  him  ;  how 
he  doubled  and  turned ;  and  when  I  had  him  at  bay,  with  his 
eyes  glaring,  his  head  drooping,  how  I  plunged  my  knife  into  his 
throat,  and  made  the  blood  ppout  out  gurgling !" 

Verty  smiled  cheerfully  at  this  recollection  of  past  enjoyment, 
and  added,  with  his  dreamy  look — 

"  But  I  know  what  I  like  better  even  than  hunting.     I  like  to 


VERTY  AND  HIS  COMPANIONS.  15 

come  and  see  you,  ami  learn  my  lessons,  and  listen  to  your  talking 
and  sinking,  Kedhud. 

By  this  time  they  had  reached  the  house,  and  they  saw  Miss 
I<4tvinia  sitting  at  the  window.     Verty  took  oil'  lib  white  fur  hat, 
and  made  the  lady  a  low  bow,  and  said — 
44  How  do  you  do,  Miss  LaviuiaT** 

44  Thank  you,  Verty,"  said  that  lady,  solemnly,  "  very  well. 
What  have  you  there  T* 

44  Some  deer  horns,  ma'am." 

"  What  for  ?" 

"  Oh,  the  Squire  said  he  wanted  them,"  Verty  replied. 

"  Hum,"  said  Miss  Lavinia,  going  on  with  her  occupation  of 
sowing. 

Verty  made  no  reply  to  this  latter  observation,  but  busied  him 
self  fixing  up  the  antlers  in  the  passage.  Having  arranged  them 
to  his  satisfaction,  he  stated  to  Kedbud  that  he  thought  the  Squire 
would  like  them ;  and  then  preferred  a  request  that  she  would 
get  her  Bible,  and  read  some  to  him.  To  this,  Kedbud,  with  a 
pleasant  look  in  her  kind  eyes,  gave  a  delighted  assent,  and,  run 
ning  up  stair?,  soon  returned,  and  both  having  seated  themselves, 
began  reading  aloud  to  the  l>oy. 

Miss  Lavinia  watched  this  proceeding  with  an  elderly  smile  ; 
but  Verty's  presence  in  some  way  did  not  seem  agreeable  to  her. 

Kedbutl  closed  the  book,  and  said : — 

"  That  is  beautiful,  isn't  it,  Verty  ?" 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  boy,  "  and  I  would  rather  hear  it  than 
any  other  book.  I'm  coming  down  every  day  to  make  you  rca-1 
for  me." 

"  Why,  you  can  read." 

"  So  I  can,  but  I  like  to  hear  it,"  said  Verty ;  "  so  I  am 
coming." 

Kedbud  shook  her  head  with  a  sorrowful  expression. 

"  I  don't  think  I  can,"  she  said.    *•  I'm  so  sorry!" 

"  Don't  think  you  can  !" 


16  VERTY  AND  HIS  COMPANIONS. 

"  No." 

"  Not  read  the  Bible  to  me  ?"  Verty  said,  smiling. 

"  I'm  going  away." 

Verty  started. 

"  Going  away  ! — you  going  away  ?  Oh  no !  Redbud,  you 
nuis'nt ;  for  you  know  I  can't  possibly  get  along  without  you, 
because  I  like  you  so  much." 

*•  Hum  !"  said  Miss  Lavinia,  who  seemed  to  be  growing  more 
and  more  dissatisfied  with  the  interview. 

"  I  must  go,  though,"  Kcdbud  said,  sorrowfully,  "  I  can't 
stay." 

"Go  where?"  asked  the  boy.  "I'll  follow  you.  Where 
are  you  going  T' 

"  Stop,  Verty  !"  here  interposed  Miss  Lavinia,  with  dignity. 
"  It  is  not  a  matter  of  importance  where  Rexlbud  is  going — and 
you  must  not  follow  her,  as  you  promise.  You  must  not  ask 
her  where  she  is  going." 

Verty  gazed  at  Miss  Lavinia  with  profound  astonishment,  and 
wa*  about  to  reply,  when  a  voice  was  heard  at  the  door,  and  all 
turned  round. 


CHAPTER  III. 

INTRODUCES   A    LEGAL    PORCUPINE, 

THIS  was  the  voice  of  the  Squire.  It  came  just  in  time  to 
create  a  diversion. 

"  Why,  there  are  my  antlers  !"  cried  the  good-humored  Squire. 
"  Look,  Kushton  !  did  you  ever  see  finer  !" 

**  Often,"  growled  a  voice  in  reply  ;  and  the  Squire  and  his 
companion  entered. 

Mr.  Kushton  was  a  rough-looking  gentleman  of  fifty  or  fifty- 
five,  with  a  grim  expression  about  the  compressed  lips,  and 
heavy  grey  eyebrows,  from  beneath  which  rolled  two  dark 
pi'-iving  eyes.  His  hair  was  slowly  retreating,  and  thought  or 
care  hud  furrowed  his  broad  brow  from  temple  to  temple.  He 
was  clad  with  the  utmost  rudeness,  and  resembled  nothing  BO 
much  as  a  half-civilized  bear. 

He  nodded  curtly  to  Miss  Lavinia,  and  took  no  notice  what 
ever  of  either  Kedbud  or  Verty. 

"  Why,  thank  for  the  antlers,  Verty  !"  said  the  good-humored 
Squire.  "  I  saw  Cloud,  and  knew  you  were  here,  but  I  had  no 
idea  that  you  had  brought  me  the  horns." 

And  the  Squire  extended  his  hand  to  Verty,  who  took  it  with 
his  old  dreamy  smile. 

"  I  could  have  brought  a  common  pair  any  day,"  he  said, 
"  but  I  promised  the  best,  and  there  they  are.  "  Oh,  Squire  ! 
said  Verty,  smiling,  "  what  a  chase  I  had !  and  what  a  fight  with 
kirn !  He  nearly  had  me  under  him  once,  and  the  antlers  you 
see  there  came  near  ploughing  up  my  breast  and  letting  out  my 


18  A   LEGAL   PORCUPINE. 

heart's  blood !  They  just  grazed — he  tried  to  bite  me — but  I 
had  him  by  the  horn  with  my  left  hand,  arid  before  a  swallow 
could  flap  his  wings,  my  knife  was  in  his  throat !" 

As  Yerty  spoke,  his  eyes  became  brighter,  his  lips  more  smiling, 
and  pushing  his  tangled  curls  back  from  his  face,  he  bestowed  his 
amiable  glances  even  upon  Miss  Lavinia. 

Mr.  Rushton  scowled. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  saying  this  barbarous  fight  was 
pleasant?"  he  asked. 

Verty  smiled  again : — he  seemed  to  know  Mr.  Rushton  well. 

"  It  is  my  nature  to  love  it,"  he  said,  "just  as  white  people 
love  books  and  papers." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  white  people  ?"  growled  Mr.  Rush- 
ton,  "  you  know  very  well  that  you  are  white." 

"  I  ?"  said  Verty. 

"  Yes,  sir  ;    no  affectation  :   look  in  that  mirror. 

Yerty  looked. 

"What  do  you  see?" 

"  An  Indian  !"  said  Yerty,  laughing,  and  raising  his  shaggy 
head. 

"You  see  nothing  of  the  sort,"  said  Mr.  Rushton,  writh 
asperity  ;  "  you  see  simply  a  white  boy  tanned — an  Anglo-Saxon 
turned  into  mahogany  by  wind  and  sun.  There,  sir  !  there," 
added  Mr.  Rushton,  seeing  Yerty  was  about  to  reply,  "  don't 
argue  the  question  with  me.  I  am  sick  of  arguing,  and  won't 
indulge  you.  Take  this  fine  little  lady  here,  and  go  and  make 
love  to  her — the  Scjuire  and  myself  have  business." 

Then  Mr.  Rushton  scowled  upon  the  company  generally,  and 
pushed  them  out  of  the  room,  so  to  speak,  with  his  eyes ;  even 
Miss  Lavinia  was  forced  to  obey,  and  disappeared. 

Five  minutes  afterwards,  Yerty  might  have  been  seen  taking 
his  way  back  ,<*adly,  on  his  little  animal,  toward  the  hills,  while 
Redbud  was  undergoing  that  most  disagreeable  of  all  ceremonies, 
a  "  lecture,"  which  lecture  was  delivered  by  Miss  Lavinia,  in  her 


A   LEGAL   PORCUPINE.  10 

own  private  apartment,  with  a  solemnity,  which  caused  Redbud 
to  class  herself  with  the  greatest  criminals  which  the  world  had 
ever  produced.  Miss  Lavinia  proved,  conclusively,  that  all  per 
sons  of  the  male  sex  were  uninterruptedly  engaged  in  endeavor 
ing  to  espouse  all  persons  of  the  female  sex,  and  that  the  world, 
generally,  was  a  vale  of  tears,  of  scheming  and  deception.  I  lav 
ing  elevated  and  cheered  Redbud's  spirits,  by  this  profound 
philosophy,  and  further  enlivened  her  by  declaring  that  she  must 
leave  Apple  Orchard  on  the  morrow,  Miss  Lavinia  descended. 

She  entered  the  dining-room  where  the  Squire  and  Mr.  Rush- 
ton  were  talking,  and  took  her  seat  near  the  window.  Mr.  Rush- 
ton  immediately  became  dumb. 

Miss  Lavinia  said  it  was  a  fine  day. 

Mr.  Rushton  growled. 

Miss  Lavinia  made  one  or  two  additional  attempts  to  direct  tho 
conversation  on  general  topics ;  but  the  surly  guest  strangled  her 
incipient  attempts  with  pitiless  indifference.  Finally,  Mips 
Lavinia  sailed  out  of  the  room  with  stately  dignity,  and  dis 
appeared. 

Mr.  Rushton  looked  after  her,  smiling  grimly. 

"The  fact  is,  Squire,"  he  said,  "that  your  cousin,  Miss 
Lavinia,  is  a  true  woman.  Hang  it,  can't  a  man  come  and  talk 
a  little  business  with  a  neighbor  without  being  intruded  upon  ? 
Outrageous !" 

The  Squire  seemed  to  regard  his  guest's  surliness  with  as  little 
attention  as  Verty  had  displayed. 

"A  true  woman  in  other  ways  is  she,  Rushton,"  he  said,  smil 
ing — "  I  grant  you  she  is  a  little  severe  and  prim,  and  fond  of 
taking  her  dignified  portion  of  every  conversation ;  but  she's  a 
faithful  and  high-toned  woman.  You  have  seen  too  much 
character  in  your  Courts  to  judge  of  the  kernel  from  the  husk." 

"  The  devil  take  the  Courts !  I'm  sick  of  'em,"  said  Mr. 
Rushton,  with  great  fervor,  "  and  as  to  character,  there  is  no 
character  anywhere,  or  in  anybody." 


20  A  LEGAL  PORCUPINE. 

Having  enunciated  which  proposition,  Mr.  Rushton  rose  to  go. 

The  Squire  rose  too,  holding  him  by  the  button. 

"  I'd  like  to  argue  that  point  with  you,"  he  said,  laughing. 
"  Come  now,  tell  me  how " 

"I  won't — I  refuse — I  will  not  argue." 

"  Stay  to  dinner,  then,  and  I  promise  not  to  wrangle." 

"  No — I  never  stay  to  dinner  !  A  pretty  figure  my  docket 
would  cut,  if  I  staid  to  your  dinners  arid  discussions  !  You've 
got  the  deeds  I  came  to  see  you  about ;  my  business  is  done ;  I'm 
going  back." 

"  To  that  beautiful  town  of  Winchester !"  laughed  the  Squire, 
following  his  grim  guest  out. 

"  Abominable  place  !"  growled  Rushton  ;  "  and  that  Round- 
jacket  is  positively  growing  insupportable.  I  believe  that  fellow 
has  a  mania  on  the  subject  of  marrying,  and  he  runs  me  nearly 
crazy.  Then,  there's  his  confounded  poem,  which  he  persists  in 
reading  to  himself  nearly  aloud." 

"His  poem  ?"  asked  the  Squire. 

"  Yes,  sir  !  his  abominable,  trashy,  revolting  poem,  called — 
'The  Rise  and  Progress  of  the  Certiorari.'  The  consequence  of 
all  which,  is — here's  my  horse ;  find  the  martingale,  you  black 
cub  ! — the  consequence  is,  that  my  office  work  is  not  done  as  it 
should  be,  and  I  shall  be  compelled  to  get  another  clerk  in  addi 
tion  to  that  villain,  Roundjucket." 

"  Why  not  exchange  with  some  one  ?" 

"How?" 

"  Roundjacket  going  elsewhere — to  Hall's,  say." 

Mr.  Rushton  scowled. 

"  Because  he  is  no  common  clerk ;  would  not  live  elsewhere, 
and  because  I  can't  get  along  without  him,"  he  said.  "Hang 
him,  he's  the  greatest  pest  in  Christendom  !" 

"  I  have  heard  of  a  young  gentleman  called  Jinks,"  the  Squire 
said,  with  a  sly  laugh,  "  what  say  you  to  him  for  number  two  ?" 

"Burn  Jinks!"  cried  Mr.  Rushton,  "he's  a  jack-a-napes,  and 


A  LEGAL   PORCUPINE.  21 

if  he  comes  within  the  reach  of  my  cane,  I'll  break  it  over  his 
rascally  shoulders  !  I'd  rather  have  this  Indian  cub  who  has  just 
left  us." 

"  That's  all  very  well ;  but  you  can't  get  him." 

"Can't  get  him1?"  asked  Rush  ton,  grimly,  as  he  got  into  the 
saddle. 

"  He  would  never  consent  to  coop  himself  up  in  Winchester. 
True,  my  little  Redbud,  who  is  a  great  friend  of  his,  has  taught 
him  to  read,  and  even  to  write  in  a  measure,  but  he's  a  true 
Indian,  whether  such  by  descent  or  not.  He  would  die  of  the 
confinement.  Remember  what  I  said  about  character  just  now, 
arid  acknowledge  the  blunder  you  committed  when  you  took  the 
position  that  there  was  no  such  thing." 

Rushton  growled,  and  bent  his  brows  on  the  laughing  Squire. 

"I  said,"  he  replied,  grimly,  "that  there  was  no  character 
to  be  found  anywhere  ;  and  you  may  take  it  as  you  choose, 
you'll  try  and  extract  an  argument  out  of  it  either  way.  I 
don't  mean  to  take  part  in  it.  As  to  this  cub  of  the  woods, 
-you  say  I  couldn't  make  anything  of  him — see  if  I  don't !  You 
have  provoked  me  into  the  thing — defied  me — and  I  accept  the 
challenge." 

"  What!  you  will  capture  Yerty,  that  roving  bird  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  and  make  of  this  roving  swallow  another  bird  called  a 
secretary.  I  suppose  you've  read  some  natural  history,  and  know 
there's  such  a  feathered  thing." 

«  Yes." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Mr.  Rushton,  kicking  his  horse,  and 
cramming  his  cocked  hat  down  on  his  forehead.  "  I'll  show  you 
how  little  you  know  of  human  nature  and  character.  I'll  take 
this  wild  Indian  boy,  brought  up  in  the  woods,  and  as  free  and 
careless  as  a  deer,  and  in  six  months  I'll  change  him  into  a 
canting,  crop-eared,  whining  pen-machine,  with  quills  behind  his 
ears,  and  a  back  always  bending  humbly.  I'll  take  this  honest 
barbarian  and  make  a  civilized  and  enlightened  individual  out  of 


22  A  LEGAL   PORCUPINE. 

him — that  is  to  say,  I'll  change  him  into  a  rascal  and  a  hypo 
crite." 

With  which  misanthropic  words  Mr.  Rushton  nodded  in  a 
surly  way  to  the  smiling  Squire,  and  took  his  way  down  the 
road  toward  Winchester. 

"  Well,  well,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  looking  after  him, 
"  Rushton  seems  to  be  growing  rougher  than  ever  ; — what  a  pity 
that  so  noble  a  heart  should  have  such  a  husk.  His  was  a  hard 
trial,  however — we  should  not  be  surprised.  Rough-headed 
fellow  !  he  thinks  he  can  do  everything  with  that  resolute  will  of 
his  ; — but  the  idea  of  chaining  to  a  writing-desk  that  wild  boy, 
Verty  !" 

And  the  old  gentleman  re-entered  the  house  smiling  cheer 
fully,  as  was  his  wont. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

HOW  VERTY  THOUGHT,  AND  PLAYED,  AND  DREAMED. 

- 

VERTY  took  his  weary  way  westward  through  the  splendid 
autumn  woods,  gazing  with  his  dreamy  Indian  expression  on  the 
variegated  leaves,  listening  to  the  far  cries  of  birds,  and  speaking 
at  times  to  Longears  and  Wolf,  his  two  deer  hounds. 

Then  .his  head  would  droop — a  dim  smile  would  glimmer  upon 
his  lips,  and  his  long,  curling  hair  would  fall  in  disordered  masses 
around  his  burnt  face,  almost  hiding  it  from  view.  At  such 
moments  Verty  dreamed — the  real  world  had  disappeared — 
perforce  of  that  imagination  given  him  by  heaven,  he  entered 
calm  and  happy  into  the  boundless  universe  of  reverie  and  fancy. 

For  a  time  he  would  go  along  thus,  his  arms  hanging  down, 
his  head  bent  upon  his  breast,  his  body  swinging  from  side  to 
side  with  every  movement  of  his  shaggy  little  horse.  Then  he 
would  rouse  himself,  and  perhaps  fit  an  arrow  to  his  bow,  and 
aim  at  some  bird,  or  some  wild  turkey  disappearing  in  the  glades. 
Happy  birds !  the  arrow  never  left  the  string.  Verty's  hand 
would  fall — the  bow  would  ^drop  at  his  [side — he  would  fix  his 
eyes  upon  the  autumn  woods,  and  smile. 

He  went  on  thus  through  the  glades  of  the  forest,  over  the 
hills,  and  along  the  banks  of  little  streams  towards  the  west. 
The  autumn  reigned  in  golden  splendor — and  not  alone  in  gold : 
in  purple,  and  azure  and  crimson,  with  a  wealth  of  slowly 
falling  leaves  which  soon  would  pass  away,  the  poor  perished 
glories  of  the  fair  golden  year.  The  wild  ge'ese  flying  South  sent 
their  faint  carol  from  the  clouds — the  swamp  sparrow  twittered, 


24       HOW  VERTY  THOUGHT  AND  DREAMED. 

and  the  still  copse  was  stirred  by  the  silent  croak  of  some  wander 
ing  wild  turkey,  or  the  far  forest  made  most  musical  with  that 
sound  which  the  master  of  Wharncliffe  Lodge  delighted  in,  the 
"  belling  of  the  hart." 

Verty  drank  in  these  forest  sounds,  and  the  full  glories  of  the 
Autumn,  rapturously — while  he  looked  and  listened,  all  his  sad 
ness  passed  away,  and  his  wild  Indian  nature  made  him  happy 
there,  in  the  heart  of  the  woods.  Ever  and  anon,  however,  the 
events  of  the  morning  would  occur  to  him,  sweeping  over  his 
upraised  brow  like  the  shadow  of  a  cloud,  and  dimming  the 
brightness  of  his  dreamy  smiles. 

"  How  red  the  maples  grow  !"  he  said,  "  they  are  burning 
away — and  the  dogwood  !  Poor  oaks  !  I'm  sorry  for  you  ;  you 

are  going,  and  I  think  you  look  like  kings g°mg "?  That  was 

what  Redbud  said  !  She  was  going  away — going  away  !" 

And  a  sigh  issued  from  Verty' s  lips,  which  betrayed  the  im 
portance  he  attached  to  Redbud's  departure.  Then  his  head 
drooped  ;  and  he  murmured — "  going  away !" 

Poor  Verty !  It  does  not  require  any  very  profound  acute- 
ness  to  divine  your  condition.  You  are  one  more  added  to  the 
list  which  Leander  heads  in  the  old  Grecian  fable.  Your  speech 
betrays  you. 

"  Wild  geese  !  They  are  early  this  year.  Ho,  there !  good 
companions  that  you  are,  come  down  and  let  rne  shoot  at  you. 
1  Crake  !  crake !'  that  is  all  you  say — away  up  there  in  the 
white  clouds,  laughing  at  me,  I  suppose,  and  making  fun  of  my 
bow.  Listen !  they  are  answering  me  from  the  clouds !  I 
wish  I  could  fly  up  in  the  clouds  !  Travelling,  as  I  live,  away 
off  to  the  south !— leaving  us  to  go  and  join  their  fellows. 
They  are  wild  birds;  I've  shot  many  of  em'.  Hark,  Longears  ! 
see  up  there  !  There  they  go — '  crake  !  crake  !  crake  !'  I  can  see 
their  long  necks  stretched  out  toward  the  South — they  are  almost 
gone — going  away  from  me — like  Redbud  !" 

And  Verty  sighed  piteously. 


HOW  VERTY  THOUGHT  AND  DREAMED.       25 

"  I  wonder  what  makes  my  breast  feel  as  if  there  was  a  weight 
upon  it,"  he  said,  "  I'll  ask  ma  mere.  " 

And  putting  spurs  to  Cloud,  Verty  scoured  through  the  pine 
hills,  and  in  an  hour  drew  near  his  home. 

t-  It  was  one  of  those  smountain  huts  which  are  frequently  met 
with  to  this  day  in  our  Virginian  uplands.  Embowered  in  pines, 
it  rather  resembled,  seen  from  a  distance,  the  eyrie  of  some  huge 
eagle,  than  the  abode  of  human  beings,  though  eagles'  eyries  are 
not  generally  roofed  in,  with  poles  and  clapboards. 

The  hut  Avas  very  small,  but  not  as  low  pitched  as  usual,  and 
the  place  had  about  it  an  air  of  wild  comfort,  which  made  it  a 
pleasant  object  in  the  otherwise  unbroken  landscape  of  pines,  and 
huge  rocks,  and  browling  streams  which  stretched  around  it. 
The  door  was  approached  by  a  path  which  wound  up  the  hill ; 
and  a  small  shed  behind  a  clump  of  firs  was  visible — apparently 
the  residence  of  Cloud. 

Verty  carefully  attended  to  his  horse,  and  then  ascended  the 
hill  toward  the  hut,  from  whose  chimney  a  delicate  smoke 
ascended. 

He  was  met  at  the  door  by  an  old  Indian  woman,  who  seemed 
to  have  reached  the  age  of  three-score  at  least.  She  was  clad  in 
the  ordinary  linsey  of  the  period  ;  and  the  long  hair  falling  upon 
her  shoulders  was  scarcely  touched  with  grey.  She  wore  beads 
and  other  simple  trinkets,  and  the  expression  of  her  countenance 
was  very  calm  and  collected. 

Verty  approached  her  with  a  bright  smile,  and  taking  her  hand 
in  his  own,  placed  it  upon  his  head ;  then  saying  something  in 
the  Delaware  tongue,  he  entered  the  hut. 

Within,  the  mountain  dwelling  was  as  wild  as  without.  From 
the  brown  beams  over-head  were  suspended  strings  of  onions, 
tin  vessels,  bridles,  dried  venison,  and  a  thousand  other  things, 
mingled  in  inextricable  confusion.  In  the  wide  fire-place,  which 
was  supplied  with  stones  for  and-irons,  a  portion  of  the  lately 
slaughtered  deer  was  broiling  on  an  impromptu  and  primitive 


26       HOW  VERTY  THOUGHT  AND  DREAMED. 

species  of  gridiron,  which  would  have  disgusted  Soyer  and 
astonished  Vatel.  This  had  caused  the  smoke ;  and  as  Verty 
entered,  the  old  woman  had  been  turning  the  slices.  Longears 
and  Wolf  were  already  stretched  before  the  fire,  their  eyes  fixed 
upon  the  venison  with  admiring  attention  and  profound  serious 
ness. 

In  ten  minutes  the  venison  was  done,  and  Verty  and  his 
mother  ate  in  silence — Verty  not  forgetting  his  dogs,  who  growled 
and  contended  for  the  pieces,  and  then  slept  upon  the  rude  pine 
floor. 

The  boy  then  went  to  some  shelves  in  the  corner,  just  by  the 
narrow  flight  of  steps  which  led  to  the  old  woman's  room  above, 
and  taking  down  a  long  Indian  pipe,  filled  it  with  tobacco,  and 
lit  it.  This  having  been  accomplished,  he  took  his  seat  on  a  sort 
of  wicker-work  bench,  just  outside  of  the  door,  and  began  to 
smoke  with  all  the  gravity  and  seriousness  of  a  Sachem  of  the 
Delawares. 

In  a  moment  he  felt  the  hand  of  the  old  woman  on  his 
shoulder. 

"Verty  has  been  asleep  and  dreamed  something,"  she  said, 
calmly,  in  the  Delaware  tongue. 

"  No,  ma  mere,  Verty  has  been  wide  awake,"  said  the  boy,  in 
the  same  language. 

"  Then  the  winds  have  been  talking  to  him." 

"  Hum,"  said  Verty. 

"  Something  is  on  my  son's  mind,  and  he  has  tied  his  heart  up 
—mal  /" 

"No,  no,"  said  Verty,  "I  assure  you,  ma  mere,  I'm  quite 
happy." 

And  having  made  this  declaration,  Verty  stopped  smoking  and 
sighed. 

The  old  woman  heard  this  sigh,  slight  as  it  was,  with  the  quick 
ear  of  the  Indian,  and  was  evidently  troubled  by  it. 

"  Has  Verty  seen  the  dove  ?"  she  said. 


HOW  VERTY  THOUGHT  AND  DREAMED.       27 

The  young  man  nodded  with  a  smile. 

"  Did  they  laugh  <?' ' 

"  They  laughed." 

"  Did  he  come  away  singing  ?" 

Verty  hesitated,  then  said,  with  an  overshadowed  brow — 

"  No,  no,  ma  mere — I  really  believe  he  did  not." 

The  old  woman  pressed  his  hand  between  her  own. 

"  Speak,"  she  said,  "  the  dove  is  not  sick  1" 

Verty  sighed. 

"  No ;  but  she  is  going  away,"  he  said,  "  and  Miss  Lavinia 
would  not  tell  me  where.  What  a  hawk  she  is — oh  !  she  shall 
not  harm  my  dove  !" 

And  Verty  betook  himself  to  gazing  with  shadowy  eyes  upon 
the  sky.  The  old  Indian  was  silent  for  some  time.  Then  she 
said — 

"  Trust  in  the  Good  Spirit,  my  son.  We  are  not  enough  for 
ourselves.  We  think  we  are  strong  and  mighty,  and  can  do 
everything;  but  a  wind  blows  us  away.  Listen,  there  is  the 
wind  in  the  pines,  and  look  how  it  is  scattering  the  leaves.  Men 
are  like  leaves — the  breath  of  the  Great  Spirit  is  the  wind  which 
scatters  them." 

And  the  old  Indian  woman  gazed  with  much  affection  on  the 
boy. 

"  What  you  say  is  worthy  to  be  written  on  bark,  mother,"  he 
said,  returning  her  affectionate  glance;  "the  Great  Spirit  holds 
everything  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand,  and  we  are  nothing. 
Going  away !"  added  Verty  after  a  pause — "  Going  away  \'\ 

And  he  sighed. 

"  What  did  my  son  say  ?"  asked  the  old  woman. 

"  Nothing,  ma  'mere.  Ah  le  Ion  temp  que  ce  triste  jour ! "  he 
murmured. 

The  old  woman's  head  drooped. 

"My  son  does  not  speak  with  a  straight  tongue,"  she  said; 
"  his  words  are  crooked." 


28       HOW  VERTY  THOUGHT  AND  DREAMED. 

"Non  non"  said  Verty,  smiling ;  " but  I  am  a  little  unwell, 
ma  mere.  All  the  way  coming  along,  I  felt  my  breast  weighed 
down — my  heart  was  oppressed.  Look  !  even  Longears  knows 
I'm  not  the  Verty  of  the  old  time." 

Longears,  who  was  standing  at  the  door  in  a  contemplative 
attitude,  fancied  that  his  master  called  him,  and,  coming  up, 
licked  Verty' s  hand  affectionately. 

"  Good  Longears !"  said  Verty,  caressing  him,  "  lie  down  at 
my  feet." 

Longears  obeyed  with  much  dignity,  and  was  soon  basking  in 
the  sunlight  before  the  door. 

"Now,  ma  mere"  Verty  said,  with  his  habitual  smile,  "we 
have  been  calling  for  the  clouds  to  come  up,  and  shut  out  the 
sun ;  let  us  call  for  the  sunlight  next.  You  know  I  am  your 
Verty,  and  every  day  as  I  grow,  I  get  able  to  do  more  for  you. 
I  shall,  some  day,  make  a  number  of  pistoles — who  knows  *? — and 
then  think  how  much  I  could  buy  for  you.  Good  mother  ! — 
happy  Verty !" 

And  taking  the  old  woman's  hand,  Verty  kissed  it. 

Then,  leaning  back,  he  reached  through  the  window,  and  took 
down  a  rude  violin,  and  began  to  play  an  old  air  of  the  border, 
accompanying  the  tune  with  a  low  chant,  in  the  Indian  fashion. 

The  old  woman  looked  at  him  for  some  moments  with  great 
affection,  a  sad  smile  lighting  up  her  aged  features ;  then  saying 
in  a  low  tone,  as  if  to  herself,  "  good  Verty !"  went  into  the 
house. 

Verty  played  for  some  time  longer.  Tired  at  last  of  his  violin, 
he  laid  it  down,  and  with  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  sand  at  his  feet, 
began  to  dream.  As  he  mused,  his  large  twilight  eyes  slowly 
drooped  their  long  lashes,  which  rested  finally  on  the  ruddy 
cheek. 

For  some  moments,  Verty  amused  himself  tracing  figures  on 
the  sand  near  Longears'  nose,  causing  that  intelligent  animal  to 
growl  in  his  sleep,  and  fight  imaginary  foes  with  his  paws. 


HOW  VERTY  THOUGHT  AND  DREAMED.       29 

From  the  window,  the  old  Indian  woman  watched  the  young 
man  with  great  affection,  her  lips  moving,  and  her  eyes,  at  times, 
raised  toward  the  sky. 

Verty  reclined  more  and  more  in  his  wicker  seat ;  the  scenes 
and  images  of  the  day  were  mingled  together  in  his  mind,  and 
became  a  dim  wrack  of  cloud ;  his  tangled  hair  shaded  his  face 
from  t^e  sun  ;  and,  overcome  by  weariness,  the  boy  sank  back, 
smiling  even  in  his  sleep.  As  he  did  so,  the  long-stemmed  Indian 
pipe  fell  from  his  hand  across  Longears'  nose,  half  covering  the 
letters  he  had  traced  with  it  on  the  sand. 

Those  letters  were,  in  rude  tracing : 

REDBUD. 

And  to  these  Yerty  had  added,  with  melancholy  and  listless 
smiles,  the  further  letters : 

GOING   TO 

Unfortunately  he  was  compelled  to  leave  the  remainder  of  the 
sentence  unwritten. 


CHATTER   V. 

* 

WINCHESTER. 

r   HAVING  followed  the  Indian  boy  from  Apple  Orchard  to  his 

loilijo  in  the  wilderness,  and  shown  how  he  passed  many  of  his 
hours  in  the  hills,  it  is  proper  now  that  we  should  mount — in  a 
figurative  and  metaphorical  sense — behind  Mr.  Rushton,  and  see 
whither  that  gentleman  also  bends  his  steps.  We  shall  thus 
arrive  at  the  real  theatre  of  our  brief  history — we  mean  at  the 
old  town  of  Winchester. 

1-1  very  body  knows,  or  ought  to  know,  all  about  Winchester. 
It  is  not  a  borounh  of  yesterday,  where,  the  hum  of  commerce 
and  the  echo  of  the  pioneer's  axe  mingle  together,  as  in  many  of 
our  iireat  western  cities  of  the  Arabian  Nights: — Winchester  has 
recollections  about  it,  and  holds  to  the  past — to  its  Indian  com 
bats,  and  strange  experiences  of  clashing  arms,  and  border  revel 
ries,  and  various  scenes  of  wild  frontier  life,  which  live  for  us 
now  only  in  the  chronicles  ;— to  its  memories  of  Colonel  Wash 
ington,  the  noble  young  soldier,  who  afterwards  became,  as  we 
all  have  heard,  so  distinguished  upon  a  larger  tield ; — to  Thomas 
Lord  Fairfax.  Ixiron  of  Cameron,  who  came  there  often  when 
the  deer  and  the  wolves  of  his  vast  possessions  would  permit  him 
— and  to  Daniel  Morgan,  who  emptied  many  fair  cups  on  Lou- 
doun-street,  and  one  day  passed,  with  trumpets  sounding,  going 
to  Quebec:  again  on  his  way  to  debate  questions  of  importance 
with  Tarleton,  at  the  Cowpens— lastly,  to  crush  the  tory  rising 
on  Lost  River,  about  the  time  when  "  it  pleased  heaven  so  to 
order  things,  that  the  large  army  of  Cornwallis  should  be  en- 


WINCHESTER.  31 

trapped  and  captured  at  Yorktown,  in  Virginia,"  as  the  chroni 
cles  inform  us.  All  these  men  of  the  past  has  Winchester  looked 
upon,  and  many  more — on  strange,  wild  pictures,  and  on  many 
histories.  For  you  walk  on  history  there  and  drink  the  chroni 
cle  : — Washington's  old  fort  is  crumbling,  but  still  visible  ; — Mor 
gan,  the  strong  soldier,  sleeps  there,  after  all  his  storms  ; — and 
grim,  eccentric  Fairfax  lies  where  he  fell,  on  hearing  of  the  York- 
town  ending. 

When  we  enter  the  town  with  Mr.  Rushton,  these  men  are 
elsewhere,  it  is  true  ;  but  none  the  less  present.  They  are  there 
forever. 

The  lawyer's  office  was  on  Loudoun-street,  and  cantering 
briskly  along  the  rough  highway  past  the  fort,  he  soon  reached 
the  rack  before  his  door,  and  dismounted.  The  rack  was 
crooked  and  quailed — the  house  was  old  and  dingy — the  very 
knocker  on  the  door  frowned  grimly  at  the  wayfarer  who 
paused  before  it.  One  would  have  said  that  Mr.  Rushton's  man 
ners,  house,  and  general  surrounding,  would  have  repelled  the 
community,  and  made  him  a  thousand  enemies,  so  grim  were 
they.  Not  at  all.  No  lawyer  in  the  town  was  nearly  so  popu 
lar — none  had  as  much  business  of  importance  entrusted  to  them. 
It  had  happened  in  his  case  as  in  a  thousand  others,  which  every 
one's  experience  must  have  furnished.  His  neighbors  had  dis 
covered  that  his  rude  and  surly  manners  concealed  a  powerful 
intellect  and  an  excellent  heart — and  even  this  rudeness  had 
grown  interesting  from  the  cynical  dry  humor  not  unfrequently 
mingled  with  it. 

A  huge  table, /littered  with  old  dingy  volumes,  and  with  dusty 
rolls  of  papers  tied  with  red  tape — a  tall  desk,  with  a  faded  and 
ink-bespattered  covering  of  brown  cloth — a  lofty  set  of  "  pigeon 
holes,"  nearly  filled  with  documents  of  eveiy  description — and  a 
set  of  chairs  and  stools  in  every  state  of  dilapidation  : — there  was 
the  ante-room  of  Joseph  Rushton,  Esq.,  Attorney-at-Law  and 
Solicitor  in  Chancery. 


32  WINCHESTER. 

No  window  panes  ever  had  been  seen  so  dirty  as  those  which 
graced  the  windows — no  rag-carpet  so  nearly  resolved  into  its 
component  elements,  had  ever  decorated  human  dwelling — and 
perhaps  no  legal  den,  from  the  commencement  of  "the  world  to 
that  time,  had  ever  diffused  so  unmistakeable  an  odor  of  parch 
ment,  law-calf,  and  ancient  dust ! 

The  apartment  within  the  first  was  much  smaller,  and  here 
Mr.  Rushton  held  his  more  confidential  interviews.  Few  persons 
entered  it,  however;  and  even  Round  jacket  would  tap  at  the  door 
before  entering,  and  generally  content  himself  with  thrusting  his 
head  through  the  opening,  and  then  retiring.  Such  was  the 
lawyer's  office. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

IN  WHICH  MR.  ROUNDJACKET  FLOURISHES  HIS  RULER. 

ROUNDJACKET  was  Mr.  Rushton' s  clerk — his  "ancient  clerk" — 
though  the  gentleman  was  not  old.  The  reader  has  heard  the 
lawyer  say  as  much.  Behold  Mr.  Roundjacket  now,  with  his 
short,  crisp  hair,  his  cynical,  yet  authoritative  face,  his  tight 
pantaloons,  and  his  spotless  shirt  bosom — seated  on  his  tall  stool, 
and  gesticulating  persuasively.  He  brandishes  a  ruler  in  his 
right  hand,  his  left  holds  a  bundle  of  manuscript ;  he  recites. 

Mr.  Rushton' s  entrance  does  not  attract  his  attention  ;  he  con 
tinues  to  brandish  his  ruler  and  to  repeat  his  poem. 

Mr.  Rushton  bestows  an  irate  kick  upon  the  leg  of  the  stool. 

"Hey  !"  says  Roundjacket,  turning  his  head. 

"  You  are  very  busy,  I  see,"  replies  Mr.  Rushton,  with  his 
cynical  smile,  "  don't  let  me  interrupt  you.  No  doubt  perusing 
that  great  poem  of  yours,  on  the  *  Certiorari.'  " 

"  Yes,"  says  Mr.  Roundjacket,  running  his  fingers  through  his 
hair,  and  causing  it  to  stand  erect,  "  I  pride  myself  on  this  pas 
sage.  Just  listen" — 

"I'd  see  your  poem  sunk  first ;  yes,  sir !  burned — exterminated. 
I  would  see  it  in  Chancery  !"  cried  the  lawyer,  in  the  height  of 
his  wrath. 

Mr.  Roundjacket's  hand  fell. 

"  No — no  !"  he  said,  with  a  reproachful  expression,  "  you 
wouldn't  be  so  cruel,  Judge  !" 

"  I  would!"  snid  Mr.  Rushton,  with  a  snap. 


MR.   KOUNDJACKET. 

"  In  Chancery  ?" 

"Yes,  sir!" 

"  Mr.  Kushton." 

"  Sir  ?"• 

"  Are  you  in  earnest  ?" 
"  I  am,  sir." 

•'  You  distinctly  state  that  you  would  see  my  poem  consigned 
to—" 

"  Chancery,  sir." 

"  Before  you  would  listen  to  it  ?" 

"Yes,  sir!" 

Koundjacket  gazed  for  a  moment  at  the  lawyer  in  a  way  which 
expressed  volumes.  Then  slowly  rubbing  his  nose  : 

"  Well,  sir,  you  are  more  unchristian  than  I  supposed — but  go 
on !  Some  day  you'll  write  a  poem,  and  I'll  handle  it  without 
gloves.  Don't  expect  any  mercy." 

"  When  I  write  any  of  your  versified  stuff,  called  poetry,  I 
give  you  leave  to  handle  it  in  any  way  you  choose,"  said  the 
Judge,  as  we  may  call  him,  following  the  example  of  Mr.  Kound 
jacket.  "Poetry  is  a  thing  for  school-boys  and  bread  and  butter 
Misses,  who  fancy  themselves  in  love — not  for  men  !" 

Roundjacket  groaned. 

"  There  you  are,"  he  said,  "  with  your  heretical  doctrines — 
doctrines  which  are  astonishing  in  a  man  of  your  sense.  You 
prefer  law  to  poetry — divine  poetry !"  cried  Koundjacket,  nour 
ishing  his  ruler. 

"  Koundjacket,"  said  Mr.  Kushton. 

"  Judge  T9 

"  Don't  be  a  ninny." 

"  No  danger.  I'm  turning  into  a  bear  from  association  with 
you." 

"  A  bear,  sir  ?" 

"  Yes  sir — a  bear,  sir  !" 

"Do  you  consider  me  a  bear,  do  you  f 


ME.   KOUNDJACKET.  35 

"  An  unmitigated  grizzly  bear,  sir,  of  the  most  ferocious  and 
uncivilized  description,"  replied  Roundjacket,  with  great  candor. 

"Very  well,  sir,"  replied  Mr.  Rushton,  who  seemed  to  relish 
these  pleasantries  of  Mr.  Roundjacket — "  very  well,  sir,  turn  into 
a  bear  as  much  as  you  choose ;  but,  for  heaven  sake,  don't  become 
a  poetical  bear." 

"There  it  is  again!" 

"What,  sir?" 

"  You  are  finding  fault  with  the  harmless  amusement  of  my 
leisure  hours.  It's  not  very  interesting  here,  if  your  Honor 
would  please  to  remember.  I  have  no  society — none,  sir.  What 
can  I  do  but  compose  1" 

"You  want  company?" 

"I  want  a  wife,  sir;  I  acknowledge  it  freely." 

"  Mr.  Rushton  smiled  grimly. 

"  Why  don't  you  get  one,  then  ?"  he  said  ;  "  but  this  is  not  what 
I  meant.  I'm  going  to  give  you  a  companion." 

"  A  companion  ?" 

"  An  assistant,  sir." 

"  Veiy  well,"  said  Mr.  Roundjacket,  "I  shall  then  have  more 
time  to  devote  to  my  epic." 

"  Epic,  the  devil !     You'll  be  obliged  to  do  more  than  ever." 

"  More  ?" 

"  Yes — you  will  have  to  teach  the  new  comer  office  duty." 

"  Who  is  he  T ' 

"  An  Indian." 

"  What  ?" 

"  The  Indian  boy  Yerty — you  have  seen  him,  I  know." 

Mr.  Roundjacket  uttered  a  prolonged  whistle. 

"  There  !"  cried  Mr.  Rushton — "  you  are  incredulous,  like 
everybody!" 

"Yes,  I  am!" 

"  You  doubt  my  ability  to  capture  him  ?" 

"Precisely." 


36  MR.   ROUND  JACKET. 

"  Well,  sir  !  we'll  see.  I  have  never  yet  given  up  what  I  have 
once  undertaken.  Smile  as  you  please,  you  moon-struck  poet ; 
and  if  you  want  an  incident  to  put  in  your  trashy  law-epic,  new 
nib  your  pen  to  introduce  a  wild  Indian.  Stop  !  I'm  tired  talk 
ing  !  Don't  answer  me.  If  any  one  calls,  say  I'm  gone  away, 
or  dead,  or  anything.  Get  that  old  desk  ready  for  the  Indian. 
He  will  be  here  on  Monday." 

And  Mr.  Kushton  passed  into  his  sanctum,  and  slammed  the 
door  after  him. 

On  the  next  day  the  lawyer  set  out  toward  the  pine  hills.  On 
the  road  he  met  Verty  strolling  along  disconsolately.  A  few 
words  passed  between  them,  and  they  continued  their  way  in 
company  toward  the  old  Indian  woman's  hut.  Mr.  Eushton  re 
turned  to  Winchester  at  twilight. 

On  Monday  morning  Verty  rode  into  the  town,  and  dis 
mounted  at  the  door  of  the  law  office. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

IN  WHICH  ROUNDJACKET  READS  HIS  GREAT  POEM. 

THREE  days  after  the  events  which  we  have  just  related,  or 
rather  after  the  introduction  of  the  reader  to  the  three  localities 
with  which  our  brief  history  will  concern  itself,  Mr.  Roundjacket 
was  sitting  on  his  high  stool  in  one  corner  of  the  office,  preparing 
the  papers  in  a  friendly  suit  in  Chancery. 

It  was  about  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  Verty,  who  rode 
home  every  evening,  had  just  come  in  and  had  taken  his  seat  at 
the  desk  in  the  corner  appropriated  to  him,  beneath  the  small 
dingy  window,  looking  out  upon  the  yard.  Longears  was 

stretched  at  his  feet. 

• 

Verty' s  face  was  more  dreamy  and  thoughtful  than  ever.  The 
dim  smile  still  dwelt  upon  his  lips,  and  though  his  countenance 
had  as  much  of  the  forest  Indian  character  as  ever,  there  was  a 
languor  about  the  drooping  eyelids,  with  their  long  lashes,  and  a 
stoop  in  the  usually  erect  neck,  which  betrayed  the  existence  in 
the  boy's  mind  of  some  ever-present  sadness.  His  costume  was 
just  what  it  had  always  been — moccasins,  deerskin  leggings,  a 
shaggy  forest  paletot,  and  fringed  leather  gauntlets,  which  now 
lay  by  him  near  his  white  fur  hat.  He  had  not  changed  by  be 
coming  a  lawyer's  clerk ;  but,  on  the  contrary,  grown  more  wild, 
apparently  from  the  very  contrast  between  his  forest  appearance 
and  the  dingy  office. 

At  times  Verty  would  stretch  out  his  hand,  and,  taking 
his  cedar  bow  from  a  chair,  bend  it  thoughtfully,  and  utter 
the  low  Indian  murmur,  which  has  been  represented  by  the 
letters,  " ough"  so  unsuccessfully;  then  he  would  allow  the 


38  ME.  EOUNDJACKET'S  POEM.' 

weapon  to  slide  from  his  nerveless  hand — his  head  would 
droop — the  dim  dreamy  smile  would  light  up  his  features  for  an 
instant,  and  he  would  lean  upon  the  desk  and  ponder — his  coun 
tenance  half  enveloped  by  the  long  tangled  chestnut  hair  which 
still  flowed  upon  his  shoulders  in  wild  luxuriance. 

Tired  of  thinking  at  last,  Verty  sighed,  and  took  up  his  pen. 
For  some  moments  it  glided  slowly  over  the  law  parchment,  and 
the  contortions  of  Verty's  face  betrayed  the  terrible  effort  neces 
sary  for  him  to  make  in  copying.  Then  his  eyes  no  longer  sought 
the  paper  to  be  transcribed — his  face  lit  up  for  a  moment,  and 
his  pen  moved  faster.  Finally,  he  rose  erect,  and  surveyed  the 
sheet,  which  he  had  been  writing  upon,  with  great  interest. 

Just  beneath  the  words,  "  messuages,  tenements,  water  courses, 
and  all  that  doth  thereunto  pertain,"  Verty  had  made  a  charming 
sketch  of  a  wild-fowl,  with  expanded  wings,  falling  from  the 
empyrean,  with  an  arrow  through  his  breast. 

For  some  moments,  the  drawing  afforded  Verty  much  gratifica 
tion  :  it  finally,  however,  lost  its  interest,  and  the  boy  leaned  his 
heafl  upon  his  hand,  and  gazed  through  the  window  upon  the 
waving  trees  which  overshadowed  the  rear  of  the  building. 

Then  his  eyes  slowly  drooped — the  dusky  lashes  moved  tremu 
lously — the  head  declined — and  in  five  minutes  Verty  was  asleep, 
resting  his  forehead  on  his  folded  arms. 

The  office  was  disturbed,  for  the  next  quarter  of  an  hour,  by 
no  sound  but  the  rapid  scratching  of  Mr.  Roundjacket's  pen, 
which  glided  over  the  paper  at  a  tremendous  rate,  and  did  terri 
ble  execution  among  plaintiffs,  executors,  administrators,  and 
assigns. 

At  the  end  of  that  time,  Mr.  Roundjacket  raised  his  head, 
uttered  a  prolonged  whistle,  and,  wiping  his  pen  upon  the  sleeve 
of  his  old  office  coat,  which  bore  a  striking  resemblance  to  the 
gaberdine  of  a  beggar,  addressed  himself  to  speech — 

"  Now,  that  was  not  wanted  till  to-morrow  evening,"  he  ob 
served,  confidentially,  to  the  pigeon-holes;  "but,  to-morrow 


MR.  ROUXDJACKET'S  POEM.  39 

evening,  I  may  be  paying  my  addresses  to  some  angelic  lady,  or 
be  engaged  upon  my  epic.  I  have  done  well ;  it  is  true  philoso 
phy  to  '  make  assurance  doubly  sure,  and  to  take  a  bond  of  fate.' 
Now  for  a  revisal  of  that  last  stanza ;  and,  I  think,  I'll  read  it 
alound  to  that  young  cub,  as  Rushton  calls  him.  No  doubt  his 
forest  character,  primitive  and  poetical,  will  cause  him  to  appre 
ciate  its  beauties.  Hallo  !" 

Verty  replied  by  a  snore. 

"What,  asleep  !"  cried  Mr.  Roundjacket.  "  Now,  you  young 
sluggard  !  do  you  mean  to  say  that  the  atmosphere  of  this  man 
sion,  this  temple  of  Chancery,  is  not  enlivening,  sprightly,  and 
anti-slumbrous  ?  Ho,  there  !  do  you  presume  to  fall  asleep  over 
that  beautiful  and  entertaining  conveyance,  you  young  savage  ! 
Wake  up  !" 

And  Mr.  Roundjacket  hurled  his  ruler  at  Verty' s  desk,  with 
the  accuracy  of  an  experienced  hand.  The  ruler  came  down 
with  a  crash,  and  aroused  the  sleeper.  Longears  also  started 
erect,  looked  around,  and  then  laid  down  again. 

"  Ah !"  murmured  Verty,  who  woke  like  a  bird  upon  the 
boughs,  "  what  was  that,  ma  mere  f 

"  There's  his  outlandish  lingo — Delaware  or  Shawnee,  I  have 
no  doubt !"  said  Mr.  Roundjacket. 

Verty  rose  erect. 

"  Was  I  asleep  f  he  said,  smiling. 

"  I  think  you  were." 

"  This  place  makes  me  go  to  sleep,"  said  the  boy.  "  How 
dull  it  is  !" 

"  Dull !  do  you  call  this  office  dull  ?  No,  sir,  as  long  as  I  am 
here  this  place  is  sprightly  and  even  poetical." 

"  Anan  ?'  said  Verty. 

"  Which  means,  in  Iroquois  or  some  barbarous  language,  that 
you  don't  understand,"  replied  Mr.  Roundjacket.  "Listen,  then, 
young  man,  I  mean  that  the  divine  spirit  of  poesy  dwells  here — 
that  nothing,  therefore,  is  dull  or  wearisome  about  this  mansion — 


40  MR, 

that  all  is  lively  and  inspiring.  Trust  me,  my  dear  young  friend, 
it  was  copying  that  miserable  deed  which  put  you  to  sleep,  and 
I  can  easily  understand  how  that  happened.  The  said  indenture 
was  written  by  the  within." 

And  Mr.  Roundjackct  pointed  toward  the  sanctum  of  Mr. 
Rushton. 

Verty  only  smiled. 

Mv.  Roundjacket  descended  from  his  stool,  and  cast  his  eyes 
upon  the  paper. 

"What!"    he   cried,   "you  made  that  picture!     How,  sir 
Upon  my  word,  young  man,  you  are  in  a  bad  way.     The  young 
ster  who  stops  to  make  designs  upon  a  copy  of  a  deed  in  a  law 
office,  is  on  the  high-road  to  the  gallows.     It  is  an  enormity,  sir — 
horrible!  dreadful!" 

"  What  the  devil  are  you  shouting  about  there !"  cried  the 
voice  of  Mr.  Rushton,  angrily.  And  opening  the  door  between 
the  two  rooms,  the  shaggy-headed  gentleman  appeared  upon  the 
threshold. 

Roundjacket  turned  over  the  sheet  of  paper  upon  which  Ver- 
ty's  design  had  been  made ;  and  then  turned  to  reply  to  the 
words  addressed  to  him. 

"  I  am  using  my  privilege  to  correct  this  youngster,"    he  re 
plied,  with  a  flourish  of  his  ruler,  apparently  designed  to  impress 
the  shaggy  head  with  the  idea  that  he,  Mr.  Roundjacket,  would 
not  permit  any  infringement  of  his  rights  and  privileges. 
"  You  are,  are  you?"  said  Mr.  Rushton. 
"  Yes,  sir,"  replied  the  clerk. 

"And  what  do  you  find  to  correct  in  Mr.  Verty?" 
"  Many  things." 
"  Specify." 
"With  pleasure." 

And  Mr.  Roundjacket,  inserting  one  thumb  into  the  pocket  of 
his  long  waistcoat,  pointed  with  the  ruler  to  Verty' s  costume. 
"  Do  you  call  that  a  proper  dress  for  a  lawyer's  clerk  ?"   he 


ME.  ROUNDJACKET'S  POEM.  41 

said.  "  Is  the  profession  to  be  disgraced  by  the  entrance  of  a 
bear,  a  savage,  a  wild  boy  of  the  woods,  who  resembles  a  cata 
mount  ain  ?•  Answer  that,  sir.  Look  at  those  leggins!" 

And  Mr.  Roundjacket  indicated  the  garments  which  reached 
to  Verty's  knees,  with  the  end  of  his  ruler. 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Rushton,  smiling,  "  I  should  think  you 
might  have  them  changed  without  troubling  me,  Verty." 

The  boy  raised  his  head  with  a  smile. 

"  How  would  you  like  a  new  suit  of  clothes  ?" 

"  I  don't  want  any,  sir." 

"  But  these  won't  do." 

"  Why  not,  sir  ?" 

"  They're  too  primitive,  you  cub.  Clothes,  sir,  are  the  es 
sence  of  human  society,  and  a  man  is  known  by  his  shell.  If 
you  wish  to  reap  those  numerous  advantages  for  your  mother, 
you  must  be  re-habited." 

"Anan?"  said  Verty. 

"  I  mean  you  must  dress  like  a  Christian — get  new  clothes." 

Verty  smiled. 

"  You  are  willing,  I  suppose?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Very  well — that  does  honor  to  your  filial  affection,  you  hand 
some  savage.  Roundjacket,  take  this  young  man  up  to  O'Bral- 
laghan's  to-morrow,  and  have  his  measure  taken." 

"  With  pleasure,"  said  Mr.  Roundjacket,  who  had  evidently 
taken  a  great  liking  to  Verty  ;  "  what  sort  of  clothes  f 

Mr.  Rushton  looked  at  the  subject  of  the  conversation.  Verty 
was  gazing  through  the  window  and  dreaming.  A  smile  passed 
over  the  grim  features,  and  a  sort  of  sigh  issued  from  the  com 
pressed  lips  of  the  lawyer. 

"  Three  suits,  Roundjacket,"  said  Mr.  Rushton ;  "  one  com 
mon,  another  rich,  another  as  elegant  as  O'Brallaghan  can  make. 
I  really  believe  this  boy  is  going  to  amuse  me." 

"  A  most  remarkable  youth,"  observed  the  clerk,  "  and  draws 
sketches  with  astonishing  ease." 


42  ME.  ROUND  JACKET'S  POEM. 

"Ah?" 

"  Don't  you,  young  man  1 

Verty  turned  round,  and  interrogated  Mr.  Roundjacket  with  a 
look.  He  had  evidently  not  heard  the  question. 

"  There,  you  are  dreaming  again,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Rushton  ; 
"  this  will  never  do — come,  write  away.  The  idleness  of  this 
world  is  revolting!"  he  growled,  returning  to  his  sanctum,  and 
closing  the  door  with  a  bang. 

Roundjacket  pointed  after  him  with  his  ruler. 

"  An  odd  fish,  young  man,"  he  said,  shaking  his  head  ;  "  take 
care  not  to  make  him  your  model.  If  you  want  a  proper  model 
to  imitate,  you  need  not  go  far.  Modesty,  which  is  my  weak 
ness,  prevents  my  saying  more." 

And  Mr.  Roundjacket  cleared  his  throat,  and  looked  dignified. 

"  It  was  my  purpose,  before  this  interruption,"  he  said,  after  a 
pause  of  some  moments,  "  to  read  to  you  some  portions  of  a 
work  which  will,  probably,  be  spoken  of  extensively  by  the 
world." 

And  Mr.  Roundjacket  paused.     Verty  also  was  silent. 

"  All  countries,"  said  the  poetical  gentleman,  with  a  prepara 
tory  flourish  of  his  ruler,  "  have  possessed  localities  famous  in  the 
history  of  literature  : — as  Athens,  in  Greece ;  the  Island  of  Scio, 
where  Homer  first  saw  the  light ;  and  Stratford,  where  Shaks- 
peare  appeared.  Now,  sir,  reasoning  from  analogy,  which  is  the 
finest  possible  way  of  reasoning,  we  must  conclude  that  Virginia 
has  such  a  locality,  and  I  leave  you  to  decide  the  probable  situ 
ation  of  it.  It  cannot  be  AVilliamsburg,  the  seat  of  government, 
for  that  place  is  given  up  to  the  vanity  of  life — to  balls  and  horse 
races,  meetings  of  the  House  of  Burgesses,  and  other  varieties. 
Williamburg,  sir,  cannot  become  famous — it  is  too  near  the  sea. 
Then  there  is  the  thriving  village  of  Richmond,  to  which  they 
speak  of  moving  the  seat  of  government.  I  suppose,  sir,  that 
no  one  asserts  that  Richmond  is  ever  likely  to  produce  any  re 
markable  men.  Mark  me,  sir,  that  place  will  never  be  famous — 
it  is  too  far  from  the  sea.  Now,  what  is  the  irresistible  conclu- 


ME.  ROUND  JACKET'S  POEM.  43 

sion  we  arrive  at  from  a  view  of  these  incontestable  facts,"  ob 
served  Mr.  Roundjacket,  endeavoring  to  catch  Verty' s  wander 
ing  eye  ;  "  why,  my  young  friend,  that  Winchester  here  is  to  be 
the  celebrated  locality — that  the  great  poet  of  Virginia  will  here 
arise  !  Is  it  not  plain,  sir  ?" 

"  Anan  ?"  said  Verty,  smiling,  and  roused  from  his  abstrac 
tion  by  the  silence. 

"  Ah,  you  are  not  very  well  accustomed  to  these  trains  of  rea 
soning,  I  perceive,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Roundjacket ;  "but  you  will  be 
able  to  comprehend  my  meaning.  I  designed  only  to  say,  that  this 
town  will  probably  be  mentioned  in  many  books,  hereafter,  as 
the  residence  of  some  distinguished  man.  Of  course,  I  do  not 
express  any  opinion  upon  that  point — /  don't  know  who  it  will 
be  ;  but  I  presume  he  will  follow  the  poetical  calling  from  the 
vicinity  of  the  mountains.  Those  beautiful  mountains  will  make 
his  cheeks  flush,  sir,  at  all  times.  The  Shenandoah,  more  noble 
than  even  the  Mississippi,  will  inspire  him,  and  possibly  he  will 
turn  his  attention  to  humor — possibly,  sir,  the  proceedings  in 
courts  of  law  may  attract  his  attention — justification,  and  cogno 
vit,  and  certiorari.  Let  me  read  you  a  small  portion  of  a  poem 
written  upon  those  subjects  by  a  very  humble  poet — are  you  lis 
tening,  Mr.  Verty  T ' 

Verty  aroused  himself,  and  smiled  upon  Mr.  Roundjacket — a 
proceeding  which  seemed  to  be  eminently  satisfactory  to  that 
gentleman. 

With  many  preparatory,  "  hems,"  therefore,  the  poet  com 
menced  reading. 

At  the  risk  of  bringing  down  upon  our  heads  the  anathema  of 
antiquaries  in  general,  we  are  compelled  to  forbear  from  making 
any  quotations  from  the  Roundjacket  Iliad.  It  was  not  quite 
equal  to  Homer,  and  inferior,  in  many  points,  to  both  the  JEnied 
and  the  Dunciad  ; — but  not  on  that  account  did  the  poet  under 
value  it.  He  read  with  that  deep  appreciation  which  authors  in 
all  ao-es  have  brought  to  bear  upon  their  own  productions. 


44:  AIR   ROUND  JACKET'S  POEM. 

Verty  preserved  a  profound  and  respectful  silence,  which  flat 
tered  the  poet  hugely.  He  recited  with  new  energy  and  plea 
sure — becoming,  at  times,  so  enthusiastic,  indeed,  that  a  smoth 
ered  growl  from  the  adjoining  apartment  bore  soothing  testimony 
to  his  eloquence. 

Mr.  Roundjacket  wound  up  with  a  gigantic  figure,  in  which 
the  muse  of  Chancery  was  represented  as  mounted  upon  a  golden 
car,  and  dispensing  from  her  outstretched  hands  all  sorts  of  fruits, 
and  flowers,  and  blessings  on  humanity  ; — and  having  thus  brought 
his  noble  poem  to  a  noble  termination,  the  poet,  modestly  smil 
ing,  and  ready  for  applause,  rolled  up  his  manuscript,  and  raised 
his  eyes  to  the  countenance  of  his  silent  and  admiring  listener — 
that  listener  who  had  been  so  rapt  in  the  glowing  images  and 
sonorous  couplets,  that  he  had  not  uttered  so  much  as  a  word. 

Yerty  was  asleep. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

HOW  VERTY  SHOT  A  WHITE   PIGEON. 

MR.  Roundjacket' s  illusions  were  all  dissipated — the  attentive 
listener  was  a  sleeping  listener — his  poem,  dreadful  to  think  of, 
had  absolutely  lulled  Verty  to  slumber. 

We  may  understand  the  mortification  of  the  great  writer; 
the  irritable  genus  had  in  him  no  unfit  representative,  thus  far  at 
least.  He  caught  Verty  by  the  shoulder  and  shook  him. 

"  Wake  up,  you  young  savage !"  he  cried,  "  sleeping  when  I 
am  reading  to  you  ;  rouse !  rouse  !  or  by  the  immortal  gods  I'll 
commit  an  assault  and  battery  upon  your  barbarous  person  ! 
Savage !  barbarian  !  monster  !" 

Suddenly  Mr.  Roundjacket  heard  a  hoarse  growl,  and  some 
thing  like  a  row  of  glittering  steel  knives  attracted  his  attention 
in  the  direction  of  his  legs.  This  phenomenon  was  caused  by 
the  opening  of  Longear's  huge  mouth — that  intelligent  animal 
having  espoused  the  cause  of  his  master,  so  rudely  assaulted,  and 
prepared  for  instant  battle. 

Fortunately,  Verty  woke  up  before  the  combat  commenced  ; 
and  seeing  the  hound  standing  in  a  threatening  attitude,  he 
ordered  him  to  lie  down.  Longears  obeyed  with  great  alacrity, 
and  was  soon  dozing  again. 

Then  commenced,  on  the  part  of  Mr.  Roundjacket,  an  eloquent 
and  animated  remonstrance  with  Verty  on  the  impropriety  of 
that  proceeding  which  he  had  just  been  guilty  of.  It  was  un 
feeling,  and  barbarous,  arid  unheard  of,  the  poet  observed,  and 


46  HOW  VERTY  SHOT   A   WHITE   PIGEON. 

but  one  thing  induced  him  to  pardon  it — the  wild  bringing  up 
of  the  young  man,  which  naturally  rendered  him  incapable  of 
appreciating  a  great  work  of  art. 

Vcrty  explained  that  he  had  been  hunting  throughout  the  pre 
ceding  night — setting  traps,  and  tramping  over  hill  and  through 
dale — and  thus  he  had  been  overcome  by  drowsiness.  He  smiled 
with  great  good  nature  upon  Mr.  Roundjacket,  as  he  uttered  this 
simple  excuse,  and  so  winning  was  the  careless  sunshine  of  his 
countenance,  that  honest  Eoundjackct,  uttering  an  expiring 
grumble,  declared  that  nothing  was  more  natural  than  his  drow 
siness.  In  future,  he  said,  he  would  select  those  seasons  when 
his — Verty's — senses  were  bright  and  wide-awake ;  and  he 
begged  the  young  man  not  to  fear  a  repetition  of  what  he  might 
have  heard — there  were  fifteen  more  cantos,  all  of  which  he 
would  read,  slowly  and  carefully  explaining,  as  he  went  along, 
any  difficulties. 

Verty  received  this  announcement  with  great  good  humor,  and 
then  began  tracing  over  his  paper,  listlessly,  the  word  "  Eedbud." 
That  word  had  been  the  key-note  of  his  mind  throughout  the 
morning — that  was  the  real  secret  of  his  abstraction. 

Miss  Lavinia  had  informed  him  on  that  morning,  when  she 
had  dismissed  him  from  Apple  Orchard,  that  Eedbud  was  going 
away  for  the  purpose  of  being  educated;  and  that  he,  Verty, 
would  act  very  incorrectly  if  he  asked  any  one  whither  Eedbud 
was  going.  Thus  the  boy  had  been  rendered  gloomy  and  sad — 
he  had  wandered  about  Apple  Orchard,  never  daring  to  ask 
whither  the  young  girl  had  gone — and  so,  in  one  of  his  wanderings, 
had  encountered  Mr.  Eushton,  who  indeed  was  seeking  him. 
He  had  easily  yielded  to  the  representations  of  that  gentleman, 
when  he  assured  him  that  he  ought  to  apply  his  mind  to  some 
thing  in  order  to  provide  for  all  the  wants  of  his  Indian  mother — 
and  this  scheme  was  all  the  more  attractive,  as  the  neighborhood 
of  Apple  Orchard,  to  which  his  steps  ever  wandered,  occasioned 
him  more  sadness  than  he  had  ever  felt  before.  Eedbud  was 


HOW  VERTY  SHOT  A  WHITE   PIGEOX.  47 

gone — why  should  he  go  near  the  place  again  ?  The  sunshine 
had  left  it — he  had  better  seek  new  scenes,  and  try  what  effect 
they  would  have. 

Therefore  was  it  that  Yerty  had  become  a  lawyer's  clerk  ;  and 
it  was  the  recollection  of  these  causes  of  sadness  which  had  made 
the  boy  so  dull  and  languid. 

Without  Redbud,  everything  seemed  dim  to  him ;  and  he  could 
not  ask  whither  she  had  flown. 

This  was  his  sad  predicament. 

After  receiving  the  assurance  of  Roundjacket's  pardon,  Verty, 
as  we  have  said,  began  scrawling  over  the  copy  of  the  deed  he 
was  making  the  name  of  Redbud.  This  persevering  and  thought 
ful  occupation  at  last  attracted  the  attention  of  his  companion. 

"  Redbud !"  asked  the  poet,  "  who  is  Redbud,  my  young 
friend  ?  I  should  conjecture  that  she  was  a  young  lady,  from  the 
name. — Stay,  is  there  not  a  Miss  Redbud  Summers,  daughter  of 
the  Squire  of  said  name  ?" 

Verty  nodded. 

"  A  friend  of  yours  f ' 

"  Yes,"  sighed  Verty. 

Mr.  Roundjacket  smiled. 

"  Perhaps  you  are  making  love  to  her  ?"  he  said. 

"  Making  love  1"  asked  Verty,  "what  is  that  ?" 

"How!"  cried  the  poet,  "you  don't  mean  to  say  you  are 
ignorant  of  the  nature  of  that  divine  sentiment  which  elevates 
and  ennobles  in  so  remarkable  a  degree — hem  ! — all  humanity  !" 

"  Anan  !"  said  Verty,  with  an  inquiring  look.' 

Mr.  Roundjacket  returned  this  look  for  some  moments,  pre 
serving  a  profound  silence. 

"  My  young  friend,"  he  said  at  last,  "  how  old  are  you?" 

"  Eighteen,  ma  mere  says." 

"Who's  mommer,  pray? 

"  Mother." 

"  Oh,"  said  the  poet,  with  some  confusion,  "  the  fact  is,  your 


48  HOW  VERTY  SHOT  A  WHITE   PIGEON. 

pronunciation — but  don't  let  us  discuss  that.  I  was  going  to 
say,  that  it  is  impossible  for  you  to  have  reached  your  present 
period  of  life  without  making  love  to  some  lady. 

Verty  looked  bewildered,  but  smiled. 

Mr.  Koundjacket  was  astounded  at  finding  such  savage  igno 
rance  in  his  companion  ; — he  revolved  in  his  mind  the  means  of 
enlightening  Verty,  in  vain. 

At  last  he  placed  the  end  of  his  ruler  upon  his  waistcoat,  and 
said,  mysteriously  : 

"  Do  you  see  me  ?" 

"  Yes,"  replied  Verty. 

"  Well,  sir,  I  made  love  to  a  young  woman  when  I  was  six." 

Verty  looked  interested. 

"  At  twelve  I  had  already  had  iny  heart  broken  three  times," 
continued  Mr.  Roundjacket ;  "  and  now,  sir,  I  make  it  a  point 
to  pay  my  addresses — yes,  to  proceed  to  the  last  word,  the  '  will 
you,'  namely, — once,  at  least,  a  year." 

Verty  replied  that  this  'was  very  kind  in  Mr.  Roundjacket,  and 
then  rising,  stretched  himself,  and  took  up  his  bow. 

"  I  feel  very  tired,"  he  said,  "  I  wish  I  was  in  the  woods." 

And  Verty  turned  his  back  on  Mr.  Roundjacket,  strolled  to 
the  door,  and  leaning  on  his  bow,  gazed  languidly  out  upon  the 
busy  street. 

He  presented  a  strange  appearance  there,  at  the  door  of  the 
dingy  office,  in  the  middle  of  the  busy  and  thriving  town.  He 
seemed  to  have  been  translated  thither,  from  the  far  forest  wilds, 
by  the  wave  of  some  magician's  wand,  so  little  did  he  appear  to 
be  a  portion  of  the  scene.  Verty  looked  even  wilder  than  ever, 
from  the  contrast,  and  his  long  bow,  and  rugged  dress,  and  droop 
ing  hat  of  fur,  would  have  induced  the  passers-by  to  take  him  for 
an  Indian,  but  for  the  curling  hair  and  the  un-Indian  face. 

Verty  gazed  up  into  the  sky  and  mused — the  full  sunlight  of 
the  bright  October  morning  falling  in  a  flood  upon  his  wild 
accoutrements. 


HOW  VERTY  SHOT  A  WHITE   PIGEON.  49 

By  gazing  at  the  blue  heavens,  over  which  passed  white  clouds, 
ever-changing  and  of  rare  loveliness,  the  forest  boy  forgot  the 
uncongenial  scenes  around  him,  the  reality ; — and  passing  per 
force  of  his  imagination  into  the  bright  realm  of  cloud-land,  was 
again  on  the  hills,  breathing  the  pure  air,  and  following  the 
deer. 

Verty  had  always  loved  the  clouds  ;  he  had  dreamed  of  Red- 
bud  often,  while  gazing  on  them ;  and  now  he  smiled,  and  felt 
brighter  as  he  looked. 

His  forest  instincts  returned,  and,  bending  his  bow,  he  care 
lessly  fitted  an  arrow  upon  the  leather  string.  What  should  he 
shoot  at? 

There  was  a  very  handsome  fish  upon  a  neighboring  belfry, 
which  was  veering  in  the  wind  ;  and  this  glittering  object  seemed 
to  Verty  an  excellent  mark.  As  he  was  about  to  take  aim,  how 
ever,  his  quick  eye  caught  sight  of  a  far  speck  in  the  blue  sky ; 
and  he  lowered  his  bow  again. 

Placing  one  hand  above  his  eyes,  he  raised  his  head,  and  fixed 
his  penetrating  gaze  upon  the  white  speck,  which  rapidly  increased 
in  size  as  it  drew  nearer.  It  was  a  bird  with  white  wings,  clearly 
defined  against  the  azure. 

Verty  selected  his  best  arrow,  and  placing  it  on  the  string, 
waited  until  the  air-sailer  came  within  striking  distance.  Then 
drawing  the  arrow  to  its  head,  he  let  it  fly  at  the  bird,  whose 
ruffled  breast  presented  an  excellent  mark. 

The  slender  shaft  ascended  like  a  flash  of  light  into  the  air — 
struck  the  bird  in  full  flight ;  and,  tumbling  headlong,  the  fowl 
fell  toward  Verty,  who,  with  hair  thrown  back,  and  outstretched 
arms,  ran  to  catch  it. 

It  was  a  white  pigeon  ;  the  sharp  pointed  arrow  had  pene 
trated  and  lodged  in  one  of  its  wings,  and  it  had  paused  in  its 
onward  career,  like  a  bark  whose  slender  mast,  overladen  with 
canvas,  snaps  in  a  sudden  gust. 

Verty  caught  the  pigeon,  and  drew  the  arrow  from  its  wing, 
which  was  all  stained  with  blood. 


50  HOW  VEETY  PHOT  A  WHITE   PIGEON. 

"Oh,  what  largo  eyes  you  have!"  he  said,  smiling  ;  "you're. 
:i  handsome  pigeon.  I  will  not  kill  you.  I  will  take  you  home 
ami  eure  your  wing,  and  then,  if  ever  I  again  see  Rcdbiul,  I  will 
give  you  to  her,  my  pretty  bird." 

Poor  Verty  sighed,  and  his  eyes  drooped  as  he  thought  of  the 
girl 

Suddenly,  however,  a  small  scroll  of  yellow  paper  encircling 
the  pigeon's  neck,  and  concealed  before  by  the  milled  plumage, 
caught  his  eye. 

tk  Paper!  and  writing  on  it!"  he  said ;  "  why,  this  is  some 
body's  pet-pigeon  I  have  shot !" 

And  tearing  olHlie  scroll,  Verty  read  these  words,  written  in 
;i  delicate,  running-hand  : 

"  I  am  Mix*  JlaUmd'x  jt'njcon  ;  and  /'"<///;?//  </<nr  me  io  lier  f 
Yerlv  remained  lor  a  moment  motionless — his  eyes  expanded 
till  they  resembled  two  rising  moons  ; — "I  am  IMiss  Redbud's 
pigeon!"  Then  Redbud  was  somewhere  in  the  neighborhood  of 
the  town — she  had  not  gone  far  out  into  the  wide,  unknown 
>vorld — this  pigeon  might  direct  him; — Verty  found  a  thousand 
thoughts  rushing  through  his  mind,  like  so  many  deer  in  a  herd, 
jostling  each  other,  and  entangling  (heir  horns. 

Surely,  it  would  not  be  wrong  for  him  to  (Miibra.cc  this  chance 
of  discovering  Kedlmd's  residence — a  chance  which  seemed  to 
have,  been  atl'orded  him  by  some  unseen  power.  Why  should  he 
not  keep  the  bird  until  its  wing  was  healed,  and  then  observe  the 
direction  of  its  flight  .;  Why  not  thus  find  the  abode  of  one  in 
whose  society  so  much  of  his  happiness  consisted  ?  Was  there 
any  thing  wrong  in  it — would  any  one  blame  him  ? 

These  were  the  questions  which  Verty  asked  himself,  standing 
in  the  October  sunshine,  and  holding  the  wounded  pigeon  to  his 
breast.  And  the  conclusion  was  ere  long  reached.  He  decided, 
to  his  own  perfect  satisfaction,  that  he  had  the  full  right  to  do 
as  he  wished;  and  then  he  re-entered  the  oll'tce. 

Mr.  Roundjjicket  was  busy  at  some  more  law  papers,  and  did 


HOW  VERTY  SHOT  A  WHITE  PIGEON.  51 

not  observe  the  object  which  he  carried.  Verty  sat  down  at  his 
desk  ;  Ix^took  himself  to  copying,  having  rejected  the  sketch-orna 
mented  sheet ;  and  by  evening  had  done  a  very  fair  day's  work. 

Then  he  put  on  his  hat,  placed  the  wounded  pigeon  in  his 
bosom,  and,  mounting  his  horse,  set  forward  toward  the  hills.  . 

"  In  three  days,"  he-  said,  "you  will  be  cured,  pretty  pigeon, 
and  then  I  will  let  you  go;  and  it  will  be  hard  if  I  don't  follow 
your  flight,  and  find  out  where  your  mistress  lives.  Oh,  me !  I 
must  sec  Kedbud — I  can't  tell  why,  but  I  know  I  must  see  her!" 

And  Verty  smiled,  and  went  on  with  a  lighter  heart  than  ho 
had  possessed  for  many  a  day. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

HAWKING    WITHOUT    A    HAWK. 

VERTY  nursed  the  wounded  pigeon  with  the  tenderness  of  a 
woman  and  the  skill  of  a  physician  ;  so  that  on  the  third  day,  as 
he  had  promised  himself,  the  bird  was  completely  "  restored  to 
health."  The  wing  had  healed,  the  eyes  grown  bright  again, 
every  movement  of  the  graceful  head  and  burnished  neck  showed 
how  impatient  the  air-sailer  was  to  return  to  his  mistress  and  his 
home. 

" Ma  mere"  said  Verty,  standing  at  the  door  of  the  old  Indian 
woman's  lodge,  "  I  think  this  pretty  pigeon  is  well.  Now  I  shall 
carry  it  back,  and  I  know  I  shall  find  Redbud." 

Verty,  it  will  be  seen,  had  concealed  nothing  from  his  mother ; 
indeed,  he  never  concealed  anything  from  anybody.  He  had  told 
her  quite  simply  that  he  wanted  to  see  Redbud  again  ;  that  they 
wouldn't  tell  him  where  she  was ;  and  that  the  pigeon  would 
enable  him  to  find  her.  The  old  woman  had  smiled,  and  mut 
tered  something,  and  that  was  all. 

Verty  now  stood  with  one  hand  on  Cloud's  mane,  in  the  early 
morning,  ready  to  set  forth. 

The  pigeon  was  perched  upon  his  left  hand,  secured  to  Verty's 
arm  by  a  ribbon  tied  around  one  of  its  feet.  This  ribbon  had 
been  given  him  by  Redbud. 

In  the  other  hand  he  carried  his  rifle,  for  some  days  disused — 
at  his  feet  lay  Longears  and  Wolf,  in  vain  pleading  with  down 
cast  eyes  for  permission  to  accompany  him. 


HAWKING  WITHOUT  A  HAWK.  53 

"  What  a  lovely  morning  !"  said  Verty,  "  and  look  at  Cloud, 
ma  mere! — he  seems  to  know  it's  fall.  Then  there's  Wolf,  who 
can't  understand  what  I  told  him  about  Mr.  Rushton's  not  liking 
so  many  dogs — see  how  sorry  he  is." 

"  The  gun  makes  him  so,"  said  the  old  woman  ;  "  he  thinks  my 
boy  is  going  a  hunting." 

"  Maybe  I  shall — who  knows?"  Verty  said.  "  If  I  see  a  deer 
upon  my  way,  good-bye  to  the  law  work !" 

And  bounding  lightly  into  the  saddle — a  movement  which 
caused  the  pigeon  to  open  and  flutter  its  wings — Verty  smiled  on 
the  old  woman,  placed  his  hand  on  his  breast,  and  touched  Cloud 
with  his  heel. 

Cloud  shook  his  head,  and  set  forward  cheerfully,  Longears 
galloping  by  his  master's  side.  ^ 

Verty  drank  in  the  Autumn  loveliness  with  that  delight  which 
he  always  experienced  in  the  fresh  pure  hills,  with  the  mountain 
winds  around  him.  The  trees  seemed  to  be  growing  more  and 
more  gorgeous  in  their  coloring,  and  .the  cries  of  wild  birds  were 
far  more  jubilant  than  ever..  As  he  went  on  along  the  narrow 
bridle  path,  under  the  magnificent  boughs,  his  countenance  was 
beighter  and  more  joyous,  and  he  broke  once  or  twice  into  a 
song. 

Suddenly,  while  he  was  humming  thus  in  a  low  tune,  to  him 
self,  a  still  " croak!"  attracted  his  attention,  and  he  stopped 
abruptly. 

"  Ah !"  he  murmured,  "  that's  a  good  big  gobbler,  and  I'll  see 
about  him !" 

And  Verty  cautiously  dismounted,  and  with  one  foot  raised, 
listened  for  a  repetition  of  the  sound. 

It  was  not  long  before  the  turkey's  call  was  again  heard  from 
a  thick  copse  on  his  left. 

The  young  hunter  turned,  and  imprisoning  Cloud's  nostril  in 
his  nervous  grasp,  looked  fixedly  into  that  intelligent  animal's 
eyes.  Cloud  seemed  to  understand  very  well — nodded  his  head — 


54  'HAWKING  WITHOUT  A  HAWK. 

drew  a  long  breath — and  stood  like  a  statue.  Verty  then  placed 
his  foot  upon  Longears,  made  a  gesture  with  his  hand,  and  Long- 
ears  showed  himself  equally  docile.  He  laid  down,  and  without 
moving,  followed  his  master  with  his  eyes,  and  listened. 

Verty  crept  noiselessly,  without  treading  on  a  leaf  or  a  twig, 
to  a  neighboring  thicket,  from  which  the  horse  and  dog  were  not 
visible.  He  then  lay  down  in  the  bushy  top  of  a  fallen  pine, 
and  without  the  assistance  of  any  "  call,"  such  as  hunters 
generally  make  use  of,  uttered  the  low,  cautious  cry  of  the  wild 
turkey.  This  he  repeated  a  number  of  times,  and  then  remained 
still. 

For  ten  or  fifteen  minutes  no  noise  disturbed  the  stillness  of 
the  forest ;  all  was  quiet.  Then  a  slight  agitation  of  the  leaves 
was  visible  at  the  distance  of  fifty  or  sixty  yards,  and  a  magnifi 
cent  gobbler  made  his  appearance,  moving  his  bright  head,  and 
darting  upon  every  side  glances  of  curiosity  and  circumspection. 

He  was  looking  for  the  female  who  had  called  him. 

Verty  cocked  his  rifle,  and  uttered  the  low  croak  again. 

This  seemed  to  remove  any  fears  which  the  turkey  had — he 
replied  to  it,  and  advanced  toward  Verty' s  impromptu  "  blind." 
A  streak  of  sunlight  through  the  boughs  fell  on  his  burnished 
neck  and  brilliant  head,  and  he  paused  again. 

Verty  ran  his  eye  along  the  barrel — covered  the  turkey  ba 
shaw's  head,  and  fired.  The  ball  passed  through  the  fowl's 
throat,  and  he  fell  back  with  violent  flutterings — no  longer  any 
thing  but  the  memory  of  a  living  turkey. 

"  Very  well,"  said  Verty,  smoothing  the  head  of  his  pigeon, 
which  had  been  greatly  startled  by  the  explosion,  "  I  can  shoot 
better  than  that — I  ought  to  have  hit  your  eye,  Monsieur." 

And  going  to  the  spot  he  took  up  the  turkey,  and  then 
returned  to  Cloud,  who,  _.with  Longears  at  his  feet,  remained 
perfectly  quiet. 

Verty  tied  the  turkey  to  his  saddle-bow,  and  went  on  laughing. 
He  made  his  entry  into  Winchester  in  this  extremely  lawyer-like 


HAWKING  WITHOUT  A  HAWK.  55 

guise  ;  that  is  to  say,  in  moccasins  and  leggins,  with  a  rifle  in 
one  hand,  a  pigeon  on  the  wrist  of  the  other,  and  a  turkey 
dangling  at  his  horse's  side.  Cloud,  in  order  to  complete  the 
picture,  was  shaggier  than  ever,  and  Verty  himself  had  never 
possessed  so  many  tangled  curls.  His  shoulders  were  positively 
covered  with  them. 

Unfortunately  Winchester  had  no  artist  at  the  period. 

Mr.  Roundjacket  was  standing  at  the  door  of  the  office,  and 
he  greeted  Verty  with  a  loud  laugh. 

"  You  young  savage  !"  he  said,  "  there  you  are  looking  like  a 
barbarous  backwoodsman,  when  we  are  trying  our  very  best  to 
make  a  respectable  lawyer  of  you." 

Verty  smiled,  and  let  Cloud  dip  his  muzzle  into  the  trough  of 
a  pump  which  stood  by  the  door,  venerable-looking  and  iron- 
handled,  like  all  parish  pumps. 

"  AVhat  excuse  have  you,  young  man  ?"  said  Mr.  Roundjacket. 
"The  individual  who  arrives  late  at  the  locality  of  his  daily 
exercitation  will  eventually  become  a  candidate  for  the  high  and 
responsible  position  of  public  suspension." 

"  Anan  f  said  Verty,  who  was  not  accustomed  to  paraphrase. 
Then  turning  his  eyes  toward  the  pigeon,  he  said : 

"  Pretty  fellow  !  Oh  !  will  you  show  me  the  way  ?  You 
shall — to  see  Redbud  !" 

And  Verty,  for  the  first  time,  seemed  to  realize  the  fact,  that 
he  could  see  her  again.  His  countenance  became  brilliant — his 
eyes  were  filled  with  light — his  lips  wreathed  with  smiles. 

Mr.  Roundjacket  was  astounded. 

"  Young  man,"  he  said,  sticking  his  pen  behind  his  ear,  "  I 
should  be  pleased  to  know  what  you  are  thinking  about !  You 
are  really  extravagant,  sir — you  need  the  purifying  and  solidify 
ing  influence  of  the  law ;  believe  me — hey !  what  are  you  doing- 
there  f ' 

Verty  was  gnawing  off  the  ribbon  from  the  pigeon's  foot,  tied 
too  tightly ;  he  could  not  undo  it,  and  having  no  knife,  used  his 
sharp  white  teeth  for  the  purpose. 


56  HAWKING  WITHOUT  A  HAWK. 

"  What !  a  pigeon  tied  to  your  arm  !  I  did  not  perceive  that, 
sir  !  What  are  you  doing  ?  This  will  not  do,  sir — Chancery, 
sir — the  law,  sir — neglected,  sir — hallo  !" 

And  Mr.  Roundjacket  staggered  back,  and  almost  fell;  the 
explanation  of  which  circumstance  was,  that  Verty  had  untied 
the  pigeon,  thrown  it  off  from  his  wrist  like  a  hawk,  and  darted 
down  the  -street  like  lightning,  first,  however,  abruptly  entrusting 
his  rifle  to  Mr.  Roundjacket,  with  the  request  that  that  gentleman 
would  "  please  hold  it !"  The  rifle  had  fallen  upon  Mr.  Round- 
jacket's  foot,  then  against  Mr.  Roundjacket's  person,  and  the 
poet  disappeared  within  the  office,  clutching  his  enemy,  that  is  to 
say,  the  gun,  and  half  determined  to  send  a  ball  after  the  flying 
Verty. 

We  need  not  say  that  this  was  impossible,  as  the  rifle  had  not 
been  reloaded.  Let  us  return  to  Verty. 

The  pigeon,  upon  being  released,  rose  into  the  air  rapidly,  mak 
ing  large  circles,  and  then,  without  pausing  a  moment,  swept 
away  on  its  white  wings,  in  a  southerly  direction. 

Verty  fixed  his  eyes  on  the  bird,  gave  Cloud  the  rein,  and 
passed  through  the  streets  of  the  good  town  of  Winchester  like 
the  Wild  Huntsman,  or  other  impersonation  of  the  German 
Legends. 

We  will  not  describe  the  sensation  which  this  remarkable 
event  excited  in  the  usually  still  country  town.  The  children 
ran ;  the  elderly  maiden  ladies,  standing  at  their  doors,  cried 
"  gracious  !"  and  the  general  impression  seemed  to  be,  that  a  new 
inroad  of  the  border  savages  was  about  to  take  place — Verty 
being  regarded  as  the  avant  courier  of  the  band. 

He  soon  passed  out  of  the  town,  however,  and  with  his  eyes 
fixed  on  the  fast-disappearing  pigeon,  sped  on  asjrapidly  as  before. 

Cloud  flew  over  the  green  turf  of  the  common  he  was  travers 
ing,  like  the  shadow  of  that  natural  phenomenon  from  which  he 
derived  his  name.  He  seemed  to  enjoy  the  race,  and  neighed  for 
pleasure. 


HAWKING    WITHOUT   A    DAWK.  75 

The  pigeon  sank  clown  toward  the  horizon — seemed  about  to 
disappear — Verty  uttered  a  deep  sigh.  But  no :  the  bird  sud 
denly  pauses,  drops  from  the  clouds,  and  settles  upon  the  roof  of 
a  house  crowning  a  grassy  hill,  which  hill  was  distant  from  Verty 
not  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  mile. 

A  smile  of  delight  passed  over  Verty's  countenance.  He  had 
found  Redbud — she  was  there  ! 

There  was  no  longer  any  necessity  for  such  headlong  speed — 
he  could  go  on  slowly  now — the  goal  was  near,  and  would  not 
fly  as  he  approached. 

Verty  drew  near  the  house,  which  was  a  tall,  wooden  structure, 
embowered  in  trees,  and  carefully  reconnoitered  with  true  hunts 
man-like  precision.  He  thought  that  the  place  looked  like  the 
residence  of  Redbud — it  was  so  bright,  and  sunny,  and  cheerful. 

On  the  roof  sat  the  returned  pigeon,  cooing,  and  pluming  his 
wings  among  his  fellows. 


CHAPTER  X. 

VERTY  MAKES  THE  ACQUAINTANCE  OF  MR.  JINKS. 

JUST  as  Verty  was  making  this  latter  observation,  his  smiling 
eyes  fixed  on  the  mansion  before  him,  he  heard  a  voice  at  his 
feet,  so  to  speak,  which  had  the  effect  of  bringing  him  to  earth 
once  more,  and  this  voice  said,  loftily — 

"You  seem  to  be  interested,  sir — handsome  house,  sir — very 
handsome  house,  sir — also  the  occupants  thereof." 

Verty  looked,  and  descried  a  gentleman  of  very  odd  appear 
ance,  who  was  looking  at  him  intently.  This  gentleman  was 
slender  of  limb,  and  tall ;  his  lower  extremities  were  clad  in  a 
tight  pair  of  short  breeches,  beneath  which,  scarlet  stockings 
plunged  themselves  into  enormous  shoes,  decorated  with  huge 
rosettes ;  his  coat  was  half-military,  half-fop ;  and  a  long  sword 
buckled  round  his  waist,  knocked  against  his  fantastic  grasshopper 
legs.  His  hair  was  frizzled ;  his  countenance,  a  most  extraordi 
nary  one  ;  his  manner,  a  mixture  of  the  hero  and  the  bully,  of 
noble  dignity  and  truculent  swagger,  as  if  Ancient  Pistol  had 
taken  the  part  of  Coriolanus,  and  had  not  become  proficient 
wholly  in  his  lofty  personation. 

When  this  gentleman  walked,  his  long  sword  bobbed,  as  we 
have  said,  against  his  legs ;  when  he  bowed,  his  attitude  was  full 
of  dignity  ;  when  he  grimaced,  he  presented  an  appearance  which 
would  have  made  Punchinello  serious,  and  induced  a  circus  clown 
to  fall  into  convulsions  of  despair. 

This  was  the  figure  which  now  stood  before  Verty,  and  caused 
that  young  man  to  lower  his  eyes  from  the  roof  and  the  pigeons. 


VEKTY  MAKES  THE  ACQUAINTANCE  OF  MR.  JINKS.       59 

Verty  looked  at  the  gentleman  for  a  moment,  and  smiled. 

"  It  is  a  handsome  house,"  he  said. 

"Handsome'?"  said  the  tall  gentleman,  with  dignity.  "I  be 
lieve  you.  That  house,  sir,  is  the  finest  I  ever  saw." 

u  Is  it  f  said  Verty. 

"  Yes,  sir." 

Verty  nodded. 

"  I  am  a  traveller,  sir." 

"  Are  you  f ' 

"  I  am,"  said  the  military  gentleman,  solemnly.  "  I  have  been 
everywhere,  sir;  and  even  in  Philadelphia  and  Paris  there  is 
nothing  like  that  house." 

"  Indeed  ?"  Verty  said,  surveying  the  remarkable  edifice. 

"  Do  you  see  the  portico  ?"  said  the  gentleman,  frowning. 

"  Yes,"  said  Verty. 

"  That,  sir,  is  exactly  similar  to  the  Acropolis — Pantheon  at 
Rome. 

"Eh?"  said  Verty. 

"  Yes,  sir ;  and  then  the  wings — do  you  see  the  wings  I" 

"  Plainly,"  said  Verty. 

"  Those,  sir,  are  modeled  on  the  State-House  in  Paris,  and  are 
intended  to  shelter  the  youthful  damsels,  here  assembled,  as  the 
wings  of  a  hen  do  the  chickens  of  her  bosom — hem  !  Cause  and 
effect,  sir — philosophy  and  poetry  unite  to  render  this  edifice  the 
paragon  and  brag  of  architectural  magnificence." 

"  A  nan  ?"  said  Verty. 

"  I  see  you  speak  French." 

"  That  ain't  French." 

"  No  ?     Then  it's  something  else.     Going  up  there  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Verty. 

"  Fine  turkey  that.     For  the  old  lady  ?" 

"Who's  the  old  lady'?" 

"  Old  Mrs.  Scowley — a  model  of  the  divine  sex,  sir." 

"  No,  it  ain't  for  her,"  said  Verty,  smiling. 


60      VERTY  MAKES  THE  ACQUAINTANCE  OF  MR.  Ji    K  I. 

"  For  Miss  Sallianna  ?" 

"Who's  that?" 

"  I  see,  sir,  that  you  are  not  acquainted  with  this  still  more 
divine  specimen  of  the — hum — I  said  that  once  before.  Miss 
Sallianna,  sir,  is  the  beautiful  sister  of  the  respected  Scowley." 

"  And  who  is  here  besides,  if  you  please  ?"  said  Verty. 

"  A  number  of  charming  young  ladies,  sir.  It  is  a  seminary, 
sir, — an  abode  of  science  and  accomplishments  generally,  sir; — the 
delights  of  philosophy,  sir,  take  up  their  chosen  dwelling  here, 
and — stop !  there's  my  soul's  idol !  Jinks  will  never  have 
another  !" 

And  Mr.  Jinks  kissed  his  hand,  and  grimaced  at  a  young  lady 
who  appeared  at  the  gate,  with  a  book  in  her  hand. 

This  young  lady  was  Kedbud. 


CHAPTER  XT. 

HOW  VERTY  DISCOVERED  IN  HIMSELF  A  GREAT  FONDNESS  FOR 
APPLES. 

VERTY  threw  himself  from  his  horse,  and  ran  forward  toward 
Eedbud  with  an  expression  of  so  much  joy,  that  even  Longears 
perceived  it ;  and,  in  the  excess  of  his  satisfaction,  reared  up  on 
Mr.  Jinks,  claiming  his  sympathy. 

Mr.  Jinks  brushed  his  clothes,  and  protested,  frowning.  Yerty 
did  not  hear  him,  however — he  was  at  the  gate  with  Redbud. 

"  Oh !"  he  cried,  "  how  glad  I  am  to  see  you  !  What  in  the 
world  made  you  come  here,  Redbud,  and  stay  away  from  me  so 
long  ?" 

Redbud  blushed,  and  murmured  something. 

"  Never  mind,"  said  Verty ;  "  I'm  so  glad  to  see  you,  that  I 
won't  quarrel." 

And  he  pressed  the  little  hand  which  he  held  with  such  ardor, 
that  Redbud  blushed  more  than  ever. 

But  she  had  scarcely  uttered  a  word — scarcely  smiled  on  him. 
What  did  it  mean  ?  Poor  Verty' s  face  began  to  be  overclouded. 

What  did  it  mean.  That  is  not  a  very  difficult  question  to 
us,  however  much  it  might  have  puzzled  Verty.  It  meant  that 
Miss  Lavinia  had  suggested  to  Redbud  the  impropriety  of  re 
maining  on  terms  of  cordiality  and  friendship  with  a  young  gen 
tleman,  who,  after  the  fashion  of  all  youths,  in  all  ages  of  the 
world,  was  desperately  anxious  to  become  some  young  lady's 
husband.  It  meant  that  the  "  lecture  "  of  this  great  female  phi 
losopher  had  produced  its  effect, — that  Miss  Redbud  had  waked 


62  VERTY  IS  FOND  OF  APPLES. 

to  a  consciousness  of  the  fact,  that  she  was  a  "  young  lady,"  and 
that  her  demeanor  toward  Verty  was  improper. 

Before,  she  had  thought  that  there  was  no  great  impropriety 
in  running  to  meet  the  forest  boy,  with  whom  she  had  played  for 
years,  and  whom  she  knew  so  very  well.  Now  this  was  changed. 
Cousin  Lavinia  saw  a  decided  impropriety  in  her  meeting  Verty 
with  a  bright  smile,  and  giving  him  her  hand,  and  saying,  in  her 
frank,  affectionate  voice :  "  Oh  !  I'm  so  glad  to  see  you  !"  Of 
course,  cousin  Lavinia  knew  all  about  it ;  and  it  was  very  dread 
ful  in  her  to  have  been  treating  Verty  with  so  little  ceremony — 
very,  very  dreadful.  Was  she  not  growing  up,  and  even  did  she 
not  wear  long  dresses?  Was  such  conduct  in  a  lady  of  sixteen 
proper? 

So,  innocence  listened  to  worldly  wisdom,  and  pride  overturned 
simplicity  ;  and,  in  consequence,  our  friend  Verty  found  himself 
opposite  a  young  lady  who  blushed,  and  exhibited  a  most  unac 
countable  constraint,  and  only  gave  him  the  tips  of  her  fingers, 
when  he  was  ready  for,  and  expected,  the  most  enthusiastic 
greeting. 

We  must,  however,  speak  of  another  influence  which  made 
Bedbud  so  cool ; — and  this  will,  very  probably,  have  occurred  to 
our  lady  readers,  if  we  have  any,  as  the  better  explanation. 
Separation  !  Yes,  the  separation  which  stimulates  affection,  and 
bathes  the  eyes  in  the  languid  dews  of  memory.  Strephon  is  never 
so  devoted  as  when  Chloe  has  been  removed  from  him — when 
his  glances  seek  for  her  in  vain  on  the  well-remembered  lawn. 
And  Chloe,  too,  is  disconsolate,  when  she  no  longer  sees  the 
crook  of  her  shepherd,  or  hears  the  madrigals  he  sings.  Absence 
smoothes  all  rough  places ;  and  the  friend  from  whom  we  are 
separated,  takes  the  dearest  place  in  the  heart  of  hearts. 

Eedbud  did  not  discover  how  much  she  loved  Verty,  until  she 
was  gone  from  him,  and  the  fresh  music  of  his  laughter  was  no 
longer  in  her  ears.  Then  she  found  that  he  held  a  very  different 
place  in  her  heart  from  what  she  had  supposed  ; — or  rather,  to 


VERTY  IS  FOND  OF  APPLES.  63 

speak  more  accurately,  she  did  not  reflect  in  the  least  upon  the 
matter,  but  only  felt  that  he  was  not  there  near  her,  and  that  she 
was  not  happy. 

This  will  explain  the  prim  little  ladylike  air  of  bashfulness  and 
constraint  which  Redbud  exhibited,  when  her  eyes  fell  on  Verty, 
and  the  coolness  with  which  she  gave  him  her  hand.  The  old 
things  had  passed  away — Verty  could  be  the  boy-playmate  no 
more,  however  much  it  grieved  her.  Thus  reflected  Miss  Redbud ; 
and  in  accordance  with  this  train  of  reasoning,  did  she  conduct 
herself  upon  the  occasion  of  which  we  speak. 

So,  to  Strephon's  request  to  be  informed  why  she  came  thither, 
without  telling  him,  Chloe  replied  with  a  blush  : 

"Oh,  I  came  to  school sir,"  she  was  about  to  add,  but 

did  not. 

"  To  school  ?     Is  this  a  school  for  young  ladies'?" 

Redbud,  with  a  delicate  little  inclination  of  the  head,  said  yes. 

"  Well,"  Verty  went  on,  "I  am  glad  I  found  you;  for,  Red- 
bud,  you  can't  tell  how  I've  been  feeling,  ever  since  you  went 
away.  It  seemed  to  me  that  there  was  a  big  weight  resting  on 
my  breast." 

Redbud  colored,  and  laughed. 

"  Sometimes,"  said  Verty,  smiling,  "  I  would  try  and  get  it 
away  by  drawing  in  my  breath,  and  ever  so  long  ;  but  I  could' nt," 
he  added,  shaking  his  head  ;  "  I  don't  know  what  it  means." 

Mr.  Jinks,  who  was  dusting  his  resetted  shoes  with  a  white 
pocket  handkerchief,  grimaced  at  this. 

"  Well,  well,"  Verty  went  on,  "  I  begin  to  feel  better  now, 
since  I've  seen  you ;  and,  I  think,  I'll  do  better  in  my  office 
work." 

"  Office  work  ?"  asked  Redbud,  beginning  to  grow  more  like 
her  former  self. 

"  Oh,  yes !"  Verty  replied ;  "  I'm  in  Mr.  Rushton's  office  now, 
and  I'm  a  lawyer's  clerk  ; — that's  what  they  call  it,  I  believe." 
Redbud  returned  his  bright  smile.     Her  eye  wandered  toward 


64  VERTY    IS   FOND    OF   APPLES. 

Cloud,  who  stood  perfectly  still — the  turkey,  which  had  not  been 
removed,  yet  dangling  at  his  saddle-bow. 

Verty  followed  the  young  girl's  glance,  and  smiled. 

"  I  know  what  you  are  looking  at,"  he  said  ;  "you  are  look 
ing  at  that  wild  turkey,  and  thinking  that  I  am  a  poor  sort  of  a 
lawyer,  with  such  a  book  to  read  out  of.  But  I  shot  him  coming 
along." 

Redbud  laughed ;  her  coolness  could  not  last  in  Verty' s  pres 
ence  ;  his  fresh  voice,  so  full  of  their  old  happy  times,  made  her  a 
child  again. 

"  And  how  did  you  find  me?"   she  said,  in  her  old  tone. 

"  By  your  pigeon  !" 

"My  pigeon? 

"  Yes.  indeed  ;  I  shot  him." 

"You  shot  him,  Verty?" 

Verty  experienced, — he  knew  not  why, — a  feeling  of  extreme 
delight,  on  hearing  his  name  from  her  lips. 

"  Yes,  I  did  so,  Redbud,"  he  replied,  confidentially,  "  and  I  cured 
him,  too.  Look  at  him,  up  there  on  the  roof,  coo-cooing !  He 
was  sailing  over  the  town,  and  I  sent  an  arrow  after  him,  and 
brought  him  straight  down." 

"  Oh,  Verty  !  how  cruel !" 

"  I  never  would  'a  shot  him  if  I  had  seen  the  name  on  his 
neck." 

"  The  name — yes — " 

"  Yours,  Redbud.  There  was  a  piece  of  paper,  and  on  it — but 
here's  the  paper." 

And  Verty  took  from  his  bosom  the  yellow  scroll,  and  placed 
it  in  Redbud' s  hand. 

She  took  it,  smiling,  and  read  the  words — "  I  am  Miss  Red- 
bud's  pigeon,  and  Fanny  gave  me  to  her." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  she  said,  "  and  I  am  glad  he's  come  back ;  poor 
fellow,  I  hav'nt  seen  him  for  days!" 

"  I  had  him,"  said  Verty. 


VERTY   IS   FOND    OF   APPLES.  65 

"  At  home  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Curing  him  f ' 

Verty  nodded. 

"  You  know  that  was  what  I  wanted.  I  cured  him,  and  then 
let  him  go,  and  followed  him,  and  found  you." 

Verty,  in  an  absent  way,  took  Miss  Eedbud's  hand,  and  was 
guilty  of  the  bad  taste  of  squeezing  it. 

The  reply  and  the  action  seemed  to  recall  Eedbud  to  herself; 
and  she  suddenly  drew  back  with  a  blush. 

Verty  looked  astounded.  In  the  midst  of  his  confusion  a 
martial  "  hem!"  was  heard,  and  Mr.  Jinks,  who  had  been  care 
fully  adjusting  his  toilette,  drew  near  the  lovers. 

"  Hem  !"  said  Mr.  Jinks,  "  a  very  fine  day,  Miss  Eedbud. 
Loveliest  of  your  sex  and  delight  of  the  world,  have  I  the 
pleasure  of  seeing  you  in  that  high  state  of  happiness  and  health 
which  of  right  should  belong  to  you  f 

With  this  Mr.  Jinks  bowed  and  gesticulated,  and  spread 
out  his  arms  like  a  graceful  giraffe,  and  dispensed  on  every  side 
the  most  engaging  grimaces. 

Eedbud  bowed,  with  an  amused  look  in  her  little  blushing 
face ;  and  just  as  she  had  got  through  with  this  ceremony,  another 
personage  was  added  to  the  company. 

This  was  an  elderly  lady  of  severe  aspect,  who,  clad  in  black, 
and  Avith  an  awfully  high  cap,  which  cast  a  shadow  as  it  came, 
appeared  at  the  door  of  the  house,  and  descended  like  a  hawk 
upon  the  group. 

"  Well,  Miss  Summers !"  she  said,  in  a  crooked  and  shrill  voice, 
"  talking  to  gentlemen,  I  see !  Mr.  Jinks,  against  rules,  sir — 
come,  Miss,  you  know  my  wishes  on  this  subject." 

As  she  spoke,  her  eyes  fell  upon  the  turkey  hanging  from 
Cloud's  saddle-bow. 

"  Young  man,"  she  said  to  Verty,  "  what's  the  price  of  that 
turkey?" 

3* 


66  VERTY  IS  FOND  OF  APPLES. 

Verty  was  looking  at  Redbud,  and  only  knew  that  the  awful 
Mrs.  Scowley  had  addressed  him,  from  Redbud' s  whispering  to 
him. 

"  Anan  ?"  he  said. 

"  I  say,  what's  the  price  of  that  turkey?"  continued  the  old 
lady  ;  "  if  you  are  moderate,  I'll  buy  it.  Don't  think,  though, 
that  I  am  going  to  give  you  a  high  price.  You  mountain  people," 
she  added,  looking  at  Verty's  wild  costume,  "  can  get  along  with 
very  little  money.  Come,  how  much  ?" 

Verty  on  that  occasion  did  the  only  artful  thing  which  he  ever 
accomplished — but  what  will  not  a  lover  do  ? 

He  went  to  Cloud,  took  the  fine  gobbler  from  the  saddle,  and 
bringing  it  to  Mrs.  Scowley,  laid  it  at  the  feet  of  that  awful 
matron  with  a  smile. 

"  You  may  have  him,"  said  Verty,  "  I  don't  want  him." 

"  Don't  want  him  !" 

"  No,  ma'am — I  just  shot  him  so — on  my  way  to  my  writ 
ing." 

"  Your  writing,  sir  ?"  said  Mrs.  Scowley,  gazing  at  Verty  with 
some  astonishment — "  what  writing  ?" 

"  I'm  in  Mr.  Rushton's  office,  and  I  write,"  Verty  replied, 
"  but  I  don't  like  it  much." 

Mrs.  Scowley  for  a  moment  endeavored  to  look  Verty  out  of 
countenance,  but  finding  that  the  young  man  seemed  to  have  no 
consciousness  of  the  fact,  and  that  he  returned  her  gaze  with 
friendly  interest,  the  ogress  uttered  a  sound  between  a  snort  and 
a  cough,  and  said  : — 

"  Then  you  did'nt  come  to  sell  the  turkey  ?" 

"  No,  indeed,  ma'am." 

"  For  what,  then  ?" 

"  I  came  to  see  Kedbud,"  replied  Verty;  "you  know,  ma'am, 
that  we  know  each  other  very  well ;  I  thought  I'd  come."  And 
Verty  smiled. 

Mrs.  Scowley  was  completely  puzzled — she  had  never  before 


VERTY  IS  FOND  OF  APPLES.  67 

se  in  a  gentleman  of  Yerty's  candor,  and  could  find  no  words  to 
reply.  She  thought  of  saying  to  our  friend  that  visiting  a  young 
lady  at  school  was  highly  criminal  and  reprehensible,  but  a  glance 
at  the  fat  turkey  lying  on  the  grass  at  her  feet,  caused  her  to 
suppress  this  speech. 

As  she  gazed,  her  feeling  relented  more  and  more-— Verty  grew 
still  more  amiable  in  her  eyes — the  turkey  evidently  weighed 
more  than  twenty  pounds. 

"  I'm  much  obliged  to  you,  young  man,"  she  said,  "  and  I'll 
take  the  turkey  from  you  as  a  friend.  Come  in  and  have  some 
apples — there's  a  bell-mouth  tree." 

"  Oh  yes  !"  said  Verty,  "  I'm  very  fond  of  apples — but  Red- 
bud  may  have  some,  too  T1  he  added,  smiling  innocently. 

"  Hum  !"  said  the  ogress. 

"  Just  a  few,  you  know,  ma'am,"  said  Verty,  with  his  bright 
smile.  "  I  know  from  the  way  she  looks  that  she  wants  some. 
Don't  you,  Redbud  f 

Poor  Redbud's  resolutions  all  melted — Verty' s  voice  did  it  all 
— she  blushed  and  nodded,  and  said  yes,  she  should  like  very 
much  to  have  some  apples. 

"Then  you  may  go,"  said  the  ogress,  somewhat  mollified, 
"  but  don't  touch  the  small  trees — I'm  keeping  them." 

"  Not  for  worlds  !"  said  Verty. 

"No,  ma'am,"  said  Redbud. 

And  they  crossed  the  lawn,  and  opening  the  gate  of  the  spa 
cious  and  well-kept  garden,  passed  in  under  the  apple  boughs. 
As  for  Mr.  Jinks,  he  accompanied  Mrs.  Scowley  to  the  house, 
bowing,  grimacing,  ambling,  and  making  himself  generally  agree 
able.  True,  he  resembled  a  grasshopper,  standing  erect,  and  go 
ing  through  the  steps  of  a  minuet ;  but  there  was  much  elegance 
in  Mr.  Jink's  evolutions,  and  unbounded  elasticity  of  limb.  He 
entered  with  Mrs.  Scowley;  and  there,  for  the  present,  we  shall 
leave  him. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

HOW   STIIEPHON  TALKED  WITH  CHLOE    IN  AN  ARBOR. 

IT  was  a  beautiful  garden  which  Verty  and  Redbud  entered, 
hand  in  hand  ; — one  of  those  old  pleasure-grounds  which,  with 
their  grass  and  flowers,  and  long-armed  trees,  laden  with  fruit  or 
blossoms,  afford  such  a  grateful  retreat  to  the  weary  or  the  sor 
rowful.  The  breath  of  the  world  comes  not  into  such  places — 
all  its  jar  and  tumult  and  turmoil,  faint,  die  and  disappear  upon 
the  flower-enameled  threshold  ;  and  the  cool  breath  of  the  bright 
heavens  fans  no  longer  wrinkled  foreheads  and  compressed  lips. 
All  care  passes  from  us  in  these  fairy-land  retreats ;  and  if  we 
can  be  happy  any  where,  it  is  there. 

We  said  that  Verty  and  Kedbud  entered,  hand  in  hand,  and 
this  may  serve  to  show  that  the  young  pupil  of  Miss  Lavinia  had 
not  profited  much  by  the  lessons  of  her  mentor. 

In  truth,  Eedbud  began  to  return  to  her  childhood,  which  she 
had  promised  herself  to  forget ;  and,  as  a  result  of  this  change 
of  feeling,  she  became  again  the  friend  and  playfellow  of  her 
childhood's  friend,  and  lost  sight,  completely,  of  the  "young- 
lady"  theory.  True,  she  did  riot  run  on,  as  the  phrase  is,  with 
Verty,  as  in  the  old  days — her  manner  had  far  more  softness 
in  it — she  was  more  quiet  and  reserved  ;  but  still,  those  con 
strained,  restless  looks  were  gone,  and  when  Verty  laughed,  the 
winning  smile  came  to  the  little  face ;  and  the  small  hand  which 
he  had  taken  was  suffered  to  rest  quietly  in  his  own. 

They  strolled   under  the  trees,  and  Verty  picked  up  some  of 


STREPHOX  TALKS  WITH  CHLOE  IN  AN  ARBOR.  69 

the  long  yellow-rinded  apples,  which  lay  upon  the  ground  under 
the  trees,  and  offered  them  to  Redbud. 

"I  didn't  want  the  apples,"  he  said,  smiling,  "I  wanted  to 
see  you,  Redbud,  for  I've  not  felt  right  since  you  went  away. 
Oh,  it's  been  so  long — so  long  !" 

"  Only  a  few  days,"  said  Eedbud,  returning  the  smile. 

"  But  you  know  a  few  days  is  a  very  long  time,  when  you 
want  to  see  anybody  very  much." 

Kedbud  returned  his  frank  smile,  and  said,  with  a  delicious 
little  prim  expression  : 

"Did  you  want  to  see  me  very  much,  Verty  f 

"Yes,  indeed;  I  didn't  know  how  much  I  liked  you,"  said  the 
boy,  with  his  ingenuous  laugh  ;  "  the  woods  didn't  look  right, 
and  I  was  always  thinking  about  you." 

Eedbud  colored  slightly,  but  this  soon  disappeared,  and  she 
laughed  in  that  low,  joyous,  musical  tone,  which  characterized 
her. 

"  There  it  is  !"  said  Verty,  going  through  the  same  ceremony  ; 
"  that's  one  thing  I  missed." 

"  What?" 

"Your  laughing!" 

"  Indeed  !"  Redbud  said. ' 

"  Yes,  indeed.  I  declare,  on  my  word,  that  I  would  rather 
hear  you  laugh,  than  listen  to  the  finest  mocking-bird  in  the 
world." 

"  You  are  very  gallant !"  said  Miss  Redbud. 

"  Anan  f  said  Verty. 

"  I  mean  you  are  very  friendly  to  me,  Verty,"  said  Redbud, 
with  a  bright  look  at  his  frank  face. 

"Why,  what  have  I  done?  I  hav'nt  done  anything  for  you, 
for  ages.  Let  me  see — can't  I  do  something  now  ?  Oh  yes, 
there  are  some  flowers,  and  I  can  make  a  nice  wreath  !" 

And  Verty  ran  and  gathered  an  armful  of  primroses,  mari 
golds,  and  golden  rods ;  some  late  roses,  too,  and  so  returned  to 
Redbud. 


70  STREPHON  TALKS  WITH  CHLOE  IN  AN  ARBOR. 

"  Now  come  to  the  arbor  here — it's  just  like  the  Apple  Orchard 
one — come,  and  I'll  make  you  a  crown." 

"  Oh  !  I  don't  deserve  it,"  laughed  the  young  girl. 

Verty  smiled. 

"Yes,  you  do,"  he  said,  "for  you  are  my  queen." 

And  he  went  and  sat  down  upon  the  trellised  bench,  and  be 
gan  weaving  a  wreath  of  the  delicate  yellow  autumn  primroses 
and  other  flowers. 

Redbud  sat  down  and  watched  him. 

Placed  thus,  they  presented  a  singular  contrast,  and,  together, 
formed  a  picture,  not  wanting  in  a  wild  interest — Verty,  clothed 
in  his  forest  costume  of  fur  and  beads,  his  long,  profusely-curling 
hair  hanging  upon  his  shoulders,  and  his  swarthy  cheeks,  round, 
and  reddened  with  health,  presented  rather  the  appearance  of  an 
Indian  than  an  Anglo-Saxon — a  handsome  wild  animal  rather 
than  a  pleasant  young  man.  Redbud's  face  and  dress  were  in 
perfect  contrast  with  all  this — she  was  fair,  with  that  delicate 
rose-color,  which  resembles  the  tender  flush  of  sunset,  in  her 
cheeks;  her  hair  was  brushed  back  from  her  forehead,  and 
secured  behind  with  a  large  bow  of  scarlet  ribbon ;  her  dress  was 
of  rich  silk,  with  hanging  sleeves ;  a  profusion  of  yellow  lace, 
and  a  dozen  rosettes  affixed  to  the  dress,  in  front,  set  off  the  cos 
tume  admirably,  and  gave  to  the  young  girl  that  pretty  attractive 
toute  ensemble  Vhich  corresponded  with  her  real  character. 

As  she  followed  Verty' s  movements,  the  frank  little  face  wore 
a  very  pleasant  smile,  and  at  times  she  would  pick  up  and  hand 
to  him  a  leaf  or  a  bud,  which  attention  he  rewarded  with  a  smile 
in  return. 

At  last  the  wreath  was  finished,  and,  rising  up,  Verty  placed 
it  on  Redbud's  forehead. 

"  How  nicely  it  fits,"  he  said  ;  "  who  would  have  imagined  that 
my  awkward  fingers  could  have  done  it1?" 

Redbud  sat  down  with  a  slight  color  in  her  cheek. 

"  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you,  Verty,"  she  said ;  "  it  was 


STREPHON  TALKS  WITH  CHLOE  IN  AN  ARBOR.  71 

very  good  in  you  to  make  this  for  me— though  I  don't  deserve 
it." 

"  Indeed  you  do — you  are  my  queen :  and  here  is  the  right 
place  for  me." 

So  saying,  Verty  smiled,  and  lay  down  at  the  feet  of  Redbud, 
leaning  on  the  trellised  bench,  and  looking  up  into  that  young 
lady's  eyes. 

"  You  look  so  pretty !"  he  said,  after  a  silence  of  some 
moments,  "  so  nice  and  pretty,  Redbud  !" 

"  Do  1 1"  said  Redbud,  smiling  and  blushing. 

"  And  so  good." 

"  Oh,  no — I  am  not !" 

"  Not  good  ?" 

"  Far  from  it,  Verty." 

"  Hum  !"  said  Verty,  "  I  should  like  to  know  how  !  I  might 
be  better  if  you  were  at  Apple  Orchard  again." 

"Better?" 

"  Yes,  yes — why  can't  you  live  at  Apple  Orchard,  where  we 
were  so  happy  ?" 

Redbud  smiled. 

"  You  know  I  am  growing  up  now,"  she  said. 

"  Growing  up  ?" 

"Yes;  and  I  must  learn  my  lessons — those  lessons  which 
cousin  Lavinia  can't  teach  me !" 

"What  lessons  are  they?" 

"  Music,  and  dancing,  and  singing,  and  all." 

Verty  reflected. 

"  Are  they  better  than  the  Bible  ?"  he  said,  at  length. 

Redbud  looked  shocked,  and  replied  to  the  young  savage : 

"  Oh  no,  no  ! — I  hardly  think  they  are  important  at  all ;  but  I 
suppose  every  young  lady  learns  them.  It  is  necessary,"  added 
the  little  maiden,  primly. 

"  Ah,  indeed  ?  well,  I  suppose  it  is,"  Verty  replied,  thought 
fully  ;  "  a  real  lady  could'nt  get  along  without  knowing  the  min- 


72  STREPHON  TALKS  WITH  CHLOE  IN  AN  ARBOK. 

uet,  and  all  that.  But  I'm  mighty  sorry  you  had  to  go.  I've 
lost  my  teacher  by  your  going." 

Redbud  returned  his  frank  look,  and  said : 

"  I'm  very  sorry,  Verty ;  but  never  mind — you  read  your 
Bible,  don't  you  ?" 

"  Yes,"  Verty  replied,  "  I  promised  you ;  and  I  read  all  about 
Joseph,  and  Nimrod,  who  was  a  hunter,  and  other  people." 

"  Don't  you  ever  read  in  the  New  Testament  f  Redbud  said. 
"  I  wish  you  would  read  in  that,  too,  Verty." 

And  Redbud,  with  all  the  laughter  gone  away  from  her  coun 
tenance,  regarded  Verty  with  her  tender,  earnest  eyes,  full  of 
kindness  and  sincerity. 

"  I  do,"  Verty  replied,  "and  I  like  it  better.  But  I'm  very 
bad.  I  don't  think  I'm  so  good  when  you  are  away,  Redbud. 
I  don't  do  what  you  tell  me.  The  fact  is,  I  believe  I'm  a  wild 
Indian;  but  I'll  grow  better  as  I  grow  older." 

"  ]  know  you  will,"  said  the  kind  eyes,  plainly,  and  Verty 
smiled. 

"I'm  coming  to  see  you  very  often  here,"  he  said,  smiling, 
"  and  I'm  going  to  do  iny  work  down  at  the  office — that  old  lady 
will  let  me  come  to  see  you,  I  know." 

Redbud  looked  dubious. 

"  I  don't  know  whether  cousin  Lavinia  would  think  it  was 
right,"  she  said. 

And  her  head  drooped,  the  long  dusky  lashes  covering  her 
eyes  and  reposing  on  her  cheek.  It  was  hard  for  Redbud  thus 
to  forbid  her  boy-playmate,  but  she  felt  that  she  ought  to  do  so. 

"  Think  it  right !"  cried  Verty,  rising  half  up,  and  resting  on 
his  hand,  "why,  what's  the  harm?" 

"I  don't  know,"  Redbud  said,  blushing,  "but  I  think  you 
had  better  ask  cousin  Lavinia." 

Her  head  sank  again. 

Verty  remained  silent  for  some  moments,  then  said  : 

"  Well,  I  will !     I'll  go  this  very  day,  on  my  way  home." 


STRKPIION  TALKS  WITH  CHLOE  IN  AN  ARBOK.  73 

"  That's  right,  Verty,"  replied  the  young  girl,  smiling  hope 
fully,  "  and  I  think  you  will  get  cousin  Lavinia  to  let  you  come. 
You  know  that  I  want  you  to." 

Verty  smiled,  then  looking  at  his  companion,  said : 

"  What  made  you  so  cold  to  me  when  I  came  at  first  ?  I 
thought  you  had  forgotten  me." 

Redbud,  conscious  of  her  feelings,  blushed  and  hesitated.  Just 
as  she  was  about  to  stammer  out  some  disconnected  words,  how 
ever,  voices  were  heard  behind  the  shrubbery,  which  separated 
the  arbor  from  a  neighboring  walk,  and  this  created  a  diversion. 

Verty  and  Redbud  could  not  help  overhearing  this  conversa 
tion. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

VERTY  EXPRESSES  A  DESIRE  TO  IMITATE  MR.  JINKS. 

THE  voice  which  they  heard  first  was  that  of  Mr.  Jinks  ;  and 
that  gentleman  was  apparently  engaged  in  the  pleasant  occupa 
tion  of  complimenting  a  lady. 

"  Fairest  of  your  sex  !"  said  the  enthusiastic  Mr.  Jinks,  "how 
can  I  express  the  delight  which  your  presence  inspires  me  with 
—ahem  !" 

The  sound  of  a  fan  coming  in  contact  with  a  masculine  hand 
was  heard,  and  a  mincing  voice  replied  : — 

"  Oh,  you  are  a  great  flatterer,  Mr.  Jinks.  You  are  really  too 
bad.  Let  us  view  the  beauties  of  nature."  * 

"  They  are  not  so  lovely  as  those  beauties  which  I  have  been 
viewing  since  I  saw  you,  my  dearest  Miss  Sallianna." 

("That's  old  Scowley's  sister,  he  said  so,"  whispered  Verty.) 

"  Really,  you  make  me  blush,"  replied  the  mincing  and  lan 
guishing  voice — "  you  men  are  dreadful  creatures  !" 

"  Dreadful !" 

"  You  take  advantage  of  our  simplicity  and  confidence  to  make 
us  believe  you  think  very  highly  of  us." 

"  Highly !  divinest  Miss  Sallianna  !  highly  is  not  the  word  ; 
extravagantly  is  better  !  In  the  presence  of  your  lovely  sex  we 
feel  our  hearts  expand  ;  our  bosoms — hem  ! — are  enlarged,  and 
we  are  all  your  slaves." 

("Just  listen,  Redbud!"  whispered  Verty,  laughing.) 

"La!"  replied  the  voice,  "how  gallant  you  are,  Mr.  Jinks!" 

"No,  Madam !"  said  Mr.  Jinks,  " I  am  not  gallant !" 


VERTY  DESIRES  TO  IMITATE  MR.  JINKS.        75 

"You?" 

"  Far  from  it,  Madam — I  am  a  bear,  a  savage,  with  all  the 
rest  of  the  female  sex ;  but  with  you — you — hem !  that  is  dif 
ferent  !" 

("  Don't  go,  Redbud  !— " 

"  But,  Verty—  " 

"  Just  a  minute,  Redbud.") 

"  Yes,  a  savage  ;  I  hate  the  sex — I  distrust  them !"  continued 
Mr.  Jinks,  in  a  gloomy  tone ;  "  before  seeing  you,  I  had  made  up 
my  mind  to  retire  forever  from  the  sight  of  mankind,  and  live  on 
roots,  or  something  of  that  description.  But  you  have  changed 
me — you  have  made  me  human." 

And  Mr.  Jinks,  to  judge  from  his  tone  of  voice,  was  looking 
dignified. 

The  fair  lady  uttered  a  little  laugh. 

"  There  it  is !"  cried  Mr.  Jinks,  "  you  are  always  happy — 
always  smiling  and  seducing — you  are  the  paragon  of  your  sex. 
If  it  will  be  any  satisfaction  to  you,  Madam,  I  will  immediately 
die  for  you,  and  give  up  the  ghost." 

Which  Mr.  Jinks  seemed  to  consider  wholly  different  from  the 
former. 

"  Heigho  !"  said  the  lady,  "  you  are  very  devoted,  sir." 

"  I  should  be,  Madam." 

"  I  am  not  worthy  of  so  much  praise." 

"  You  are  the  pearl  of  your  sex,  Madam." 

"  Oh,  no !  I  am  only  a  simple  young  girl — but  twenty -five 
last  January — and  I  have  no  pretensions  in  comparison  with 
many  others.  Immured  in  this  quiet  retreat,  with  a  small  pro 
perty,  and  engaged  in  the  opprobrious  occupation  of  cultivating 
the  youthful  mind — " 

"  A  noble  employment,  Madam." 

"  Yes,  very  pleasing ;  with  this,  and  with  a  contemplation  of 
the  beautiful  criterions  of  nature,  I  am  happy." 

"  Fairest  of  your  sex,  is  this  all  that  is  necessary  for  happi 
ness?"  observed  Mr.  Jinks. 


76  VERTY  DESIRES  TO  IMITATE  MR.  JINKS. 

"  What  more  ?" 

"  Is  solitude  the  proper  sphere  of  that  divine  sex  which  in  all 
ages  of  the  world — ahem  ! — has — " 

"  Oh,  sir  !' 

And  the  flirting  of  the  fan  was  heard. 

"  Should  not  woman  have  a  companion — a  consoler,  who —  " 

The  fan  was  evidently  used  to  hide  a  number  of  blushes. 

"  Should  not  such  a  lovely  creature  as  yourself,"  continued 
the  enthusiastic  Jinks,  "  choose  one  to — " 

Redbud  rose  quickly,  and  said,  blushing  and  laughing:  — 

"  Oh,  come,  Verty  !" 

"No,  no — listen!"  said  Verty,  "I  do  believe — " 

"  No,  no,  no  !"  cried  Redbud,  hurriedly,  "  it  was  very  wrong — " 

"  What? — courting." 

a  Oh,  no  !     It's  mean  in  us  to  listen  !" 

And  she  went  out  of  the  arbor,  followed  by  Verty,  who  said, 
"I'm  glad  courting  ain't  wrong  ;  I  think  I  should  like  to  court 
you,  Redbud." 

Redbud  made  no  reply  to  this  innocent  speech  of  Mr.  Verty, 
but  walked  on.  The  noise  which  they  made  in  leaving  the  arbor 
attracted  the  attention  of  the  personages  whose  conversation  we 
have  been  compelled  to  overhear ;  and  Mr.  Jinks  and  his  com 
panion  passed  through  an  opening  in  the  shrubbery,  and  appeared 
in  full  view. 

Miss  Sallianna  was  a  young  lady  of  thirty-two  or  three,  with 
long  corkscrew  curls,  a  wiry  figure — a  smile,  of  the  description 
called  "  simper,"  on  her  lips,  and  an  elegant  mincing  carriage  of 
the  person  as  she  moved.  See  carried  a  fan,  which  seemed  to 
serve  for  a  number  of  purposes  :  to  raise  artificial  breezes,  cover 
imaginary  blushes,  and  flirt  itself  against  the  hands  or  other 
portions  of  the  persons  of  gentlemen  making  complimentary 
speeches. 

She  displayed  some  temporary  embarrassment  upon  see 
ing  Redbud  and  Verty;  and  especially  stared  at  that  young 
gentleman. 


VERTY  DESIKES  TO  IMITATE  ME.  JINKS.  77 

Mr.  Jinks  was  more  self-possessed. 

"  Ah,  my  dear  sir !"  he  said,  stalking  toward  Verty,  and  grim 
acing,  at  the  same  time,  at  Redbud,  "  are  you  there,  and  with 
the  fairest  of  her — hem  !" 

And  Mr.  Jinks  stopped,  nearly  caught  in  the  meshes  of  his 
gallantry. 

"  Yes,  this  is  me,  and  I've  been  talking  with  Redbud,"  said 
Verty  ;  "  is  that  Miss  Sallianna  ?" 

"  The  lady  had  recovered  her  simper ;  and  now  flirted  her  fan 
as  gracefully  as  ever. 

"  See  how  your  reputation  has  gone  far  and  wide,"  said  Mr. 
Jinks,  with  a  fascinating  grimace. 

"  You  know  you  were  talking  of  her  when — how  do  you  do, 
Miss  Sallianna,"  said  Verty,  holding  out  his  hand. 

"La!"  said  the  fair  one,  inserting  the  points  of  her  fingers 
into  Verty's  palm,  "and  Mr.  Jinks  was  talking  of  me1?  What 
did  he  say,  sir, — I  suppose  it  was  in  town." 

"No,  ma'am,"  said  Verty,  "  it  was  at  the  gate,  when  I  came 
to  see  Redbud — the  pigeon  showed  me  the  way.  He  said  you 
were  something — but  I've  forgot." 

"  The  paragon  of  beauties  and  the  pearl  of  loveliness,"  sug 
gested  Mr.  Jinks. 

"  I  don't  think  it  was  that,"  Verty  replied,  "  but  it  was  some 
thing  pretty — prettier  than  what  you  said  just  now,  when  you 
were  courting  Miss  Sallianna,  you  know." 

Mr.  Jinks  cleared  his  throat — Miss  Sallianna  blushed. 

"  Really—"  said  Mr.  Jinks. 

"What  children!"  said  the  lady,  with  a  patronizing  air; 
"  Reddy,  do  you  know  your  lesson  ?" 

By  which  question,  Miss  Sallianna  evidently  intended  to  re 
duce  Miss  Redbud  to  her  proper  position  of  child. 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  said  Redbud  "  and  Mrs.  Scowley  said  I  might 
come  in  here." 

"  With  this — young  man  T ' 


78  VERTY  DESIRES  TO  IMITATE  MR.  JINKS. 

"  Yes,  ma'am.     He  is  a  very  old  friend  of  mine." 

"  Indeed  !"  simpered  the  lady. 

"  Are  you  not,  Verty?" 

But  Verty  was  intently  watching  Longears,  who  was  trying  to 
insert  his  nose  between  two  bars  of  the  garden  gate. 

"  Anan  f  he  said. 

"  La,  what  does  he  mean  ?"  said  the  lady ;  see  !  he's  looking 
at  something." 

Verty  was  only  making  friendly  signs  to  Longears  to  enter  the 
garden.  Longears  no  sooner  understood  that  he  was  called,  than 
he  cleared  the  fence  at  one  bound,  and  came  up  to  his  master. 

Mr.  Jinks  had  not  heard  his  own  voice  for  at  least  half  a  min 
ute  ;  so  he  observed,  loftily  : 

"  A  handsome  dog  !  a  very  handsome  dog,  sir !  What  did  you 
say  his  name  was  ?  Longears  1  Yes  1  Here,  Longears  !" 

And  he  made  friendly  signs  of  invitation  to  the  hound.  Long- 
ears  availed  himself  of  these  indications  of  friendship  by  rearing 
up  on  Mr.  Jinks,  and  leaving  a  dust-impression  of  his  two  paws 
upon  that  gentleman's  ruffled  shirt-bosom. 

Verty  laughed,  and  dragged  him  away. 

i '  Longears,"  he  said,  "I'm  surprised  at  you — and  here,  too, 
where  you  should  conduct  yourself  better  than  usual !" 

Miss  Sallianna  was  about  to  say  something,  when  a  bell  was 
heard  to  ring. 

"  Oh  !"  said  Redbud,  "  there's  school.     Playtime's  over." 

"  Over  "?"   said  Verty,  with  an  exhibition  of  decided  ill-humor. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Miss  Sallianna,  "  and  my  young  pupil  must 
now  return  to  her  studies.  Mr.  Jinks — " 

And  the  lady  threw  a  languishing  glance  on  her  cavalier. 

"  You  will  come  soon  again,  and  continue  our  discussion — of 
— of — the  beauties  of  nature  ?  We  are  very  lonely  here." 

"Will  I  come'?"  cried  the  enthusiastic  Jinks;  and  having 
thus  displayed,  by  the  tone  in  which  his  words  were  uttered,  the 
depth  of  his  devotion,  the  grasshopper  gentleman  gallantly  pressed 


VEKTY  DESIRES  TO  IMITATE  ME.  JINKS.  79 

the  hand  held  out  to  him,  and,  with  a  lofty  look,  made  his  exit 
out  of  the  garden. , 

Verty  followed.     But  first  he  said  to  Redbud,  smiling  : 

"  I'm  going  to  see  Miss  Lavinia  this  very  day,  to  ask  her  to 
let  me  come  to  see  you.  You  know  I  must  come  to  see  you, 
Redbud.  I  don't  know  why,  but  I  must." 

Eedbud  blushed,  and  continued  to  caress  Longears,  who  sub 
mitted  to  this  ceremony  with  great  equanimity. 

"  Come  !"  said  Miss  Sallianna,  "  let  us  return,  Miss  Summers." 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  said  Kedbud  ;  "good-bye,  Verty,"  she  added, 
looking  at  the  boy  with  her  kind,  smiling  eyes,  and  lowering  her 
voice,  "  remember  what  you  promised  me — to  read  your  Bible." 

And  smiling  again,  Redbud  gave  him  her  hand,  and  then  fol 
lowed  Miss  Sallianna,  who  sailed  on  before — her  head  resting 
languidly  on  one  shoulder — her  fan  arranged  primly  upon  her 
maiden  chin — her  eyes  raised  in  contemplation  to  the  sky. 

Poor  Verty  smiled  and  sighed,  and  followed  Kedbud  with  his 
eyes,  and  saw  her  disappear — the  kind,  tender  eyes  fixed  on  him 
to  the  last.  He  sighed  again,  as  she  passed  from  his  sight ;  and 
so  left  the  garden.  Mr.  Jinks  was  swaggering  amiably  toward 
town — Cloud  was  standing,  like  a  statue,  where  his  master  had 
left  him.  Verty,  leaning  one  arm  on  the  saddle,  murmured  : 

"  Really,  Redbud  is  getting  prettier  than  ever,  and  I  wonder 
if  I  am  what  Mr.  Roundjacket  calls  'in  love'  with  her?" 

Finding  himself  unable  to  answer  this  question,  Verty  shook 
his  head  wisely,  got  into  the  saddle,  and  set  forward  toward  the 
town,  Longears  following  duly  in  his  wake. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE  THIRTEENTH  OF  OCTOBER. 

JUST  as  the  boy  left  the  surburban  residence  of  Miss  Redbud, 
Mr.  Roundjacket,  who  had  been  Avriting  at  his  old  dusty  desk  for 
an  hour,  raised  his  head,  hearing  a  knock  at  the  door. 

He  thrust  the  pen  he  had  been  using  behind  his  ear,  and  bade 
the  intruder  "  come  in  !" 

One  of  the  clients  of  Mr.  Rushton  made  his  appearance,  and 
inquired  for  that  gentleman.  Mr.  Roundjacket  said  that  Mr. 
Rushton  was  "  within,"  and  rose  to  go  and  summon  him,  the 
visitor  meanwhile  having  seated  himself. 

Mr.  Roundjacket  tapped  at  the  door  of  Mr.  Rushton' s  sanctum, 
but  received  no  answer.  He  tapped  louder — no  reply.  Some 
what  irate  at  this,  he  kicked  the  door,  and  at  the  same  moment 
opened  it,  preparing  himself  for  the  encounter. 

An  unusual  sight  awaited  him. 

Seated  at  his  old  circular  table,  covered  with  papers  and 
books,  Mr.  Rushton  seemed  perfectly  ignorant  of  his  presence,  as 
he  had  not  heard  the  noise  of  the  kick.  His  head  resting  upon 
his  hand,  the  forehead  drooping,  the  eyes  half  closed,  the  bosom 
shaken  by  piteous  sighs,  and  the  whole  person  full  of  languor  and 
grief,  no  one  would  have  recognized  the  rough,  bearish  Lawyer 
Rushton,  or  believed  that  there  could  be  anything  in  common 
between  him  and  the  individual  sitting  at  the  table,  so  bowed 
down  with  sorrow. 

Before  him  lay  a  little  book,  which  he  looked  at  through  a 
mist  of  tears. 


THE  THIRTEENTH  OF  OCTOBER.  81 

Roundjacket  touched  him  on  the  shoulder,  with  a  glance  of 
wonder,  and  said  : — 

"You  are  sick,  sir! — Mr.  Rushton,  sir  ! — there  is  somebody  to 
see  you." 

In  truth,  the  honest  fellow  could  scarcely  stammer  out  these 
broken  words ;  arid  when  Mr.  Rushton,  slowly  returning  to  a 
consciousness  of  his  whereabouts,  raised  his  sorrowful  eyes, 
Roundjacket  looked  at  him  with  profound  commiseration  and 
sympathy. 

"  You  have  forgotten,"  said  Mr.  Rushton,  in  a  low,  broken 
voice,  his  pale  lips  trembling  as  he  spoke, — "you  don't  keep 
account  of  the  days  as  I  do,  Roundjacket." 

"  The  days— I—" 

"  Yes,  yes ;  it  is  natural  for  you  to  wonder  at  all  this,"  said 
the  weary  looking  man,  closing  the  book,  and  locking  it  up  in  a 
secret  drawer  of  the  table  ;  "  let  us  dismiss  the  matter.  Did  you 
say  any  one  wanted  me  1  Yes,  I  can  attend  to  business—my 
mind  is  quite  clear— I  am  ready— I  will  see  them  now,  Round- 
jacket." 

And  the  head  of  the  lawyer  fell  upon  his  arm,  his  bosom 
shaken  with  sobs. 

Roundjacket  looked  at  him  no  longer  with  so  much  surprise 

he  had  understood  all. 

"  Yes,  yes,  sir— I  had  forgotten,"  he  muttered,  « this  is  the 
13th  of  October." 

Mr.  Rushton  groaned. 

Roundjacket  was  silent  for  a  moment,  looking  at  his  friend 
with  deep  sympathy. 

"  I  don't  wonder  now  at  your  feelings,  sir,"  he  said,  "  and  I 
am  sorry  I  intruded  on — " 

"  No,  no  -  you  are  a  good  friend,"  murmured  the  lawyer, 
growing  calmer,  «  you  will  understand  my  feelings,  and  not  think 
them  strange,  i  am  nearly  over  it  now ;  it  must  come— oh  !  I 
am  very  wretched!  Oh  !  Anne!  my  child,  my  child!" 


82          THE  THIRTEENTH  OF  OCTOBER, 

And  allowing  his  head  to  fall  again,  the  rough,  boorish  man 
cried  like  a  child,  spite  of  the  most  violent  efforts  to  regain  his 
composure  and  master  his  emotion. 

"  Go,"  he  said,  in  a  low,  broken  voice,  making  a  movement 
•with  his  hand,  "I  was  wrong — I  cannot  see  any  one  to-day — I 
must  be  alone." 

Roundjacket  hesitated  ;  moved  dubiously  from,  then  toward 
the  lawyer  ;  finally  he  seemed  to  have  made  up  his  mind,  and 
going  out  he  closed  the  door  slowly  behind  him.  As  he  did  so, 
the  key  turned  in  the  lock,  and  a  stifled  moan  died  away  in  the 
inner  chamber. 

"Mr.  Rushton  is  unwell,  and  can't  transact  business  to-day,'* 
said  Roundjacket,  softly,  for  he  was  thinking  of  the  poor  afflicted 
heart  "within;"  then  he  added,  "you  may  call  to-morrow,  sir." 

The  visitor  went  away,  wondering  at  "  Judge  Rushton"  being 
sick  ;  such  a  thing  had  never  before  occurred  in  the  recollection 
of  the  "  oldest  inhabitant."  Just  as  he  had  disappeared,  the  door 
re-opened,  and  Verty  made  his  appearance. 

"  I'm  very  sorry,  Mr.  Roundjacket,"  said  the  boy,  "  for  having 
run  off  so  this  morning,  but  you  see  I  was  after  that  pigeon.  I'll 
stay  till  night,  though,  and  work  harder,  and  then  it  will  be  right 
again." 

Instead  of  a  very  solemn  and  severe  rebuke,  Verty  was  sur 
prised  to  hear  Mr.  Roundjacket  say,  in  a  low  and  thoughtful 
voice : — 

"  You  need  not  work  any  to-day,  Verty — you  can  go  home  if 
you  like.  Mr.  Rushton  is  unwell,  and  wishes  to  be  quiet." 

"  Unwell ?"  said  the  boy,  "you  don't  mean  sickf 

"Not  precisely,  but  indisposed." 

"  I  will  go  and  see  him,"  said  the  boy,  moving  towards  the 
door.  Mr.  Roundjacket  interposed  with  his  ruler,  managing  that 
instrument  pretty  much  as  a  marshal  does  his  baton. 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  that  is  impossible,  young  man.  But  you 
need  give  yourself  no  uneasiness — Mr.  Rushton  is  only  a  little 


THE  THIRTEENTH  OF  OCTOBER.  83 

out  of  sorts.  You  will  find  him  quite  well  to-morrow.  Return 
home  now.  There  is  your  rifle." 

These  words  were  uttered  with  so  much  decision,  that  Verty 
made  no  further  objection. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  with  his  thoughtful  smile,  "  I'm  very  sorry 
Mr.  Rushton  is  sick,  but  I'm  glad  I  can  go  and  hunt  some  for 
ma  mere.  Must  I  go  now,  sir1?" 

"Yes,  and  come  early  to-morrow,  there's  some  work;  and 
besides,  your  measure  for  the  clothes  must  be  taken." 

Verty  nodded  indifferently,  and  taking  up  his  rifle,  went  out, 
followed  by  Longears. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE  PEDLAR  AND  THE  NECKLACE. 

VERTY  mounted  Cloud  again,  and  set  forward  toward  Apple 
Orchard.  That  place  very  soon  rose  upon  his  sight,  and  riding 
up  to  the  house  Verty  encountered  the  good-humored  Squire,  who 
was  just  coming  in  from  the  fields. 

"  Good  morning,  Squire,"  said  the  boy,  smiling,  "  may  I  go 
and  see  Redbud,  if  you  please*?" 

The  Squire  laughed. 

"  Redbud  ?     What,  at  school,  yonder  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

The  good-natured  old  gentleman  looked  at  the  boy's  frank  face, 
and  admired  its  honest,  ingenuous  expression. 

"  I  don't  see  why  you  should'nt,  Verty,"  he  replied,  "  if  you 
don't  go  too  often,  and  keep  my  little  'Bud  from  her  lessons." 

"  Oh !  no,  sir." 

"  Go,  go  by  all  means — it  will  be  of  service  to  her  to  see 
home  faces,  and  you  are  something  like  home  to  her.  Short  as 
the  distance  is,  I  can't  leave  my  farm,  and  we  can't  have  'Bud 
•with  us  every  week,  as  I  should  wish  " 

"  Ive  just  come  from  there,"  said  Verty,  "  and  Redbud  is  very 
well,  and  seems  to  like  the  place.  There  is  a  man  who  comes 
there  to  see  Miss  Sallianna,  and  Rodbud  most  dies  laughing  at 
him — I  mean,  I  suppose  she  does.  His  name  is  Mr.  Jinks." 

"  What !  the  great  Jinks  ?  the  soldier,  the  fop,  the  coxcomb 
and  swaggerer !"  laughed  the  Squire. 


THE  PEDLAR  AND  THE  NECKLACE.         85 

Verty  nodded. 

"That's  the  very  man,  sir,"  he  said,  "and  I  saw  him  to-day. 
I  came  back,  and  found  Mr.  Rushton  wanted  to  be  quiet,  and 
Mr.  Roundjacket  said  I  might  go  and  hunt  some  for  ma  mere" 

ii  Go,  then,  Verty ;  that  is,  if  you  won't  stop  to  dinner." 

"  I  don't  think  I  can,  sir — I  should  like  to  see  Miss  Lavinia, 
though,  if " 

"  Out  visiting,"  said  the  Squire. 

This  removed  all  Verty' s  scruples;  he  had  virtually  done 
what  he  promised  Redbud,  and  would  now  go  and  see  her,  be 
cause  the  Squire  had  a  better  right  to  decide  than  even  Miss 
Lavinia.  He,  therefore,  bowed,  with  a  smiling  look,  to  the  old 
gentleman,  and  continued  his  way  toward  the  lodge  of  his 
mother.  «• 

He  had  reached  the  foot  of  the  hill  upon  which  the  cabin  was 
situated,  when  he  saw  before  him,  seated  on  a  log  by  the  side  of 
the  bridle-path  he  was  following,  one  of  those  pedlars  of  former 
times,  who  were  accustomed  to  make  the  circuit  of  the  country 
side  with  their  packs  of  wares  and  stuffs — peripatetic  merchants, 
who  not  unfrequently  practised  the  trade  of  Autolycus. 

This  man  seemed  to  be  a  German ;  and  when  he  spoke,  this 
impression  was  at  once  verified.  He  informed  Verty  that 
he  was  tired,  very  hungry,  had  travelled  a  long  way,  and 
would  be  obliged  to  his  honor  for  a  little  bit  of  something,  just 
to  keep  body  and  soul  together  till  he  reached  "  Wingester."  He 
had  gone  toward  the  house,  he  said,  but  a  dog  there  had  scared 
him,  and  nobody  seemed  stirring. 

Verty  very  readily  assented  to  this  request,  and  first  stabling 
Cloud,  accompanied  the  German  pedlar  to  the  cabin.  The  old 
Indian  woman  was  out  in  the  woods  gathering  some  herbs  or 
roots,  in  the  properties  of  which  she  was  deeply  learned  ;  and  in 
her  absence,  Wolf  had  mounted  guard  over  the  lodge  and  its 
contents.  The  pedlar  had  approached,  intent  on  begging,  and,  if 
possible,  larceny ;  but  Wolf  had  quickly  bared  a  double  row  of 


86         THE  PEDLAR  AND  THE  NECKLACE. 

long,  sharp  teeth,  which  ceremony  he  had  accompanied  with  an 
ominous  growl,  and  this  had  completely  daunted  Autolycus,  who 
had  retreated  with  precipitation. 

Wolf  now  made  no  further  objection  to  his  entry,  seeing  that 
Verty  accompanied  him ;  and  the  two  persons  went  into  the 
house. 

"  Ma  mere's  away  somewhere,"  said  Verty ;  "  but  we  can  broil 
some  venison.  Wait  here :  I'll  go  and  get  it." 

The  boy,  humming  one  of  the  old  border  songs,  opened  a  door 
in  the  rear  of  the  lodge,  and  passed  into  a  sort  of  covered  shed, 
which  was  used  as  a  store-room  by  the  old  woman. 

The  door  closed  behind  him. 

The  pedlar  looked  around ;  the  two  hounds  were  lazily  paw 
ing  each  other  in  the  sun,  before  the  door,  and  no  sound  disturbed 
the  silence,  but  their  low  whining,  as  they  yawned,  or  the  faint 
cry  of  some  distant  bird. 

The  pedlar  muttered  a  cautious  "goot!"  and  looked  warily 
around  him.  Nothing  worth  stealing  was  visible,  at  least  noth 
ing  small  enough  to  carry  away. 

His  prying  eye,  however,  detected  an  old  chest  in  the  corner, 
half  covered  with  deer  and  other  skins,  and  the  key  of  this  chest 
was  in  the  lock. 

The  pedlar  rose  cautiously,  and  listened. 

The  young  man  was  evidently  preparing  the  venison  steaks 
from  the  noise  he  made,  an  occupation  which  he  accompanied 
with  the  low,  Indian  humming. 

The  pedlar  went  on  the  points  of  his  toes  to  the  chest,  care 
fully  turned  the  key,  and  opened  it.  With  a  quick  hand  he 
turned  over  its  contents,  looking  round  cautiously. 

After  some  search,  he  drew  forth  a  silver  spoon,  and  what 
seemed  to  be  a  necklace  of  red  beads,  the  two  ends  of  which 
were  brought  together  by  a  circular  gold  plate.  Just  as  the  ped 
lar  thrust  these  objects  into  his  capacious  breast-pocket,  the  door 
opened,  and  Verty  entered. 


THE  PEDLAR  AND  THE  NECKLACE.         87 

But  the  boy  did  not  observe  him — he  quickly  and  cautiously 
closed  the  chest,  and  began  examining  one  of  the  skins  on  the 
lid. 

Verty  looked  up  from  the  steaks  in  his  hand,  observed  the 
occupation  of  the  pedlar,  and  began  to  laugh,  and  talk  of  his 
hunting. 

The  pedlar  drew  a  long  breath,  returned  to  his  pack,  and  sat 
down. 

As  he  did  so,  the  old  Indian  woman  came  in,  and  the  boy  ran 
to  her,  and  kissed  her  hand,  and  placed  it  on  his  head.  This 
was  Indian  fashion. 

"Oh,  ma  mere!"  he  cried,  "I've  seen  Redbud,  and  had  such 
a  fine  time,  and  I'm  so  happy !  I'm  hungry,  too ;  and  so  is  this 
honest  fellow  with  the  pack.  There  go  the  steaks  !" 

And  Verty  threw  them  on  the  gridiron,  and  burst  out  laugh 
ing. 

In  a  quarter  of  an  hour  they  were  placed  on  the  rude  table, 
and  the  three  persons  sat  down — Verty  laughing,  the  old  woman 
smiling  at  him,  the  pedlar  sullen  and  omnivorous. 

After  devouring  everything  on  the  table,  the  worthy  took  his 
departure  with  his  pack  upon  his  shoulders. 

"  I  don't  like  that  man,  but  let  him  go,"  said  Verty.  "  Now, 
ma  mere,  I'm  going  out  to  hunt  a  bit  for  you." 

The  old  woman  gazed  fondly  on  him,  and  this  was  all  Verty 
needed.  He  rose,  called  the  dogs,  and  loaded  his  gun. 

"  Good-bye,  ma  mere"  he  said,  going  out ;  "don't  let  any  more 
of  these  pedlar  people  come  here.  I  feel  as  if  that  one  who  has 
just  gone  away,  had  done  me  some  harm.  Come,  Longears !  come, 
Wolf!" 

And  Verty  took  his  way  through  the  forest,  still  humming  his 
low,  Indian  song. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

MR.  ROUNDJACKET  MAKES  HIMSELF  AGREEABLE. 

ON  the  morning  after  the  scenes  which  we  have  just  related, 
Mr.  Roundjacket  was  seated  on  his  tall  three-legged  stool,  hold 
ing  in  his  left  hand  the  MS.  of  his  poem,  and  brandishing  in  his 
right  the  favorite  instrument  of  his  eloquence,  when,  chancing  to 
raise  his  eyes,  he  saw  through  the  window  an  approaching  car 
riage,  which  carriage  had  evidently  conceived  the  design  of 
drawing  up  at  -the  door  of  Mr.  Rushton's  office. 

A  single  glance  showed  Mr.  Roundjacket  that  this  carriage 
contained  a  lady  ;  a  second  look  told  him  that  the  lady  was 
Miss  Lavinia. 

We  might  very  rationally  suppose  that  the  great  poet,  absorb 
ed  in  the  delights  of  poesy,  and  thus  dead  to  the  outer  world, 
would  have  continued  his  recitation,  arid  permitted  such  real, 
sublunary  things  as  visitors  to  pass  unheeded.  But  such  a  con 
clusion  would  not  indicate  a  very  profound  acquaintance  with  the 
character  of  Mr.  Roundjacket — the  most  chivalric  and  gallant 
of  cavaliers. 

Instead  of  going  on  with  his  poem,  he  hastily  rolled  up  the 
manuscript,  thrust  it  into  his  desk,  and  hastening  to  a  small 
cracked  mirror,  which  hung  over  the  fire-place,  there  commenced 
arranging  Ms  somewhat  disordered  locks  and  apparel,  with  scru 
pulous  care. 

As  he  finished  this  hasty  toilette,  the  Apple  Orchard  carriage 
drew  up  and  stopped  at  the  door,  and  Mr.  Roundjacket  rushed 
forth. 


MR.  ROUNDJACKET  MAKES  HIMSELF  AGKEEABLE.       89 

Then  any  body  who  would  have  taken  the  trouble  to  look, 
might  have  seen  a  gentleman  opening  the  door  of  a  chariot  with 
profuse  bows,  and  smiles,  and  graceful  contortions ;  and  then  a 
lady  accepting  the  proffered  hand  with  solemn  courtesy;  and 
then  Mr.  Roundjacket  might  have  been  observed  leading  the 
lady  elegantly  into  the  office. 

"  A  delightful  morning — a  very  delightful  morning,  madam," 
said  Mr.  Roundjacket. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Miss  Lavinia,  solemnly. 

"And  you  look  in  the  best  of  health  andjspirits,  madam." 

"  Thank  you,  sir  ;  I  feel  very  well,  and  I  am  glad  to  think  that 
you  are  equally  blest." 

"  Blest !"  said  Mr.  Roundjacket ;  "  since  you  came,  madam, 
that  may  be  very  truly  said." 

A  ghost  of  a  smile  lit,  so  to  speak,  upon  Miss  Lavinia's  face, 
and  then  fiew  away.  It  was  very  plain  that  this  inveterate  man- 
hater  had  not  closed  her  ears  entirely  to  the  voice  of  her  enemy. 

Roundjacket  saw  the  impression  he  had  made,  and  followed  it 
up  by  gazing  with  admiring  delight  upon  his  visitor ; — whose 
countenance,  as  soon  as  the  solemnity  was  forgotten,  did  not  by 
any  means  repel. 

"  It  is  a  very  great  happiness,"  said  the  cavalier,  seating  him 
self  on  his  stool,  and,  from  habit,  brandishing  his  ruler  around 
Miss  Lavinia's  head, — "  it  is  a  great  happiness,  madam,  when  we 
poor  professional  slaves  have  the  pleasure  to  see  one  of  the  divine 
sex — one  of  the  ladies  of  creation,  if  I  may  use  the  phrase.  Law- 
books  and  papers  are — ahem  ! — very — yes,  exceedingly — " 

"  Dull  ?"  suggested  the  lady,  fanning  herself  with  a  measured 
movement  of  the  hand. 

"  Oh !  worse,  worse  !  These  objects,  madam,  extinguish  all 
poetry,  and  gallantry,  and  elevated  feeling  in  our  unhappy 
breasts." 

«  Indeed  V ' 

"  Yes,  my  dear  madam,  and  after  a  while  we  become  so  dead 

4* 


90       ME.  BOUND  JACKET  MAKES  HIMSELF  AGREEABLE. 

to  all  that  is  beautiful  and  charming  in  existence" — that  was 
from  Mr.  Roundjacket' s  poem — "  that  we  are  incapable  even  of 
appreciating  the  delightful  society  of  the  fairest  and  most  exqui 
site  of  the  opposite  sex." 

Miss  Lavinia  shook  her  head  with  a  ghostly  smile. 

"  I'm  afraid  you  are  very  gallant,  Mr.  Roundjacket." 

"  I,  madam  ?  no,  no  ;  I  am  the  coldest  and  most  prosaic  of 
men." 

"  But  your  poem?" 

"  You  have  heard  of  that?" 

"  Yes,  indeed,  sir." 

"  Well,  madam,  that  is  but  another  proof  of  the  fact  which  I 
assert." 

"  How,  indeed  ?" 

"  It  is  on  the  prosaic  and  repulsive  subject  of  the  Certiorari." 

And  Mr.  Roundjacket  smiled  after  such  a  fashion,  that  it  was 
not  difficult  to  perceive  the  small  amount  of  sincerity  in  this 
declaration. 

Miss  Lavinia  looked  puzzled,  and  fanned  herself  more  solemnly 
than  ever. 

"  The  Certiorari,  did  you  say,  sir  f '  she  asked. 

"  Yes,  madam — one  of  our  legal  proceedings  ;  and  if  you  are 
really  curious,  I  will  read  a  portion  of  my  unworthy  poem  to 
you — ahem  ! — " 

As  Mr.  Roundjacket  spoke,  an  overturned  chair  in  the  adjoin 
ing  room  indicated  that  the  occupant  of  the  apartment  had  been 
disturbed  by  the  noise,  and  was  about  to  oppose  the  invasion  of 
his  rights. 

Roundjacket  no  sooner  heard  this,  than  he  restored  the  poem 
to  his  desk,  with  a  sigh,  and  said : 

"  But  you,  no  doubt,  came  on  business,  madam — I  delay  you — 
Mr.  Rushton-— " 

At  the  same  moment  the  door  of  Mr.  Rushton's  room  opened, 
and  that  gentleman  made  his  appearance,  shaggy  and  irate — a 


MR.  ROUNDJACKET  MAKES  HIMSELF  AGREEABLE.       91 

frown  upon  his  brow,  and  a  man-eating  expression  on  his  com 
pressed  lips. 

The  sight  of  Miss  Lavinia  slightly  removed  the  wrathful  ex 
pression,  and  Mr.  Rush  ton  contented  himself  with  bestowing  a 
dreadful  scowl  on  Roundjacket,  which  that  gentleman  returned, 
and  then  counteracted  by  an  amiable  smile. 

Miss  Lavinia  greeted  the  lawyer  with  grave  dignity,  and  said  she 
had  come  in,  in  passing,  to  consult  him  about  some  little  matters 
which  she  wished  him  to  arrange  for  her ;  and  trusted  that  she 
found  him  disengaged. 

This  was  said  with  so  much  dignity,  that  Mr.  Rushton  could 
not  scowl,  and  so  he  invited  Miss  Lavinia  to  enter  his  sanctum, 
politely  leading  the  way. 

The  lady  sailed  after  him — and  the  door  closed. 

No  sooner  had  she  disappeared,  than  Mr.  Roundjacket  seized 
his  ruler,  for  a  moment  abandoned,  and  proceeded  to  execute  in 
numerable  flourishes  toward  the  adjoining  room,  for  what  precise 
purpose  does  not  very  accurately  appear.  In  the  middle  of  this 
ceremony,  however,  and  just  as  his  reflections  were  about  to  shape 
themselves  into  words,  the  front  door  opened,  and  Verty  made 
his  appearance,  joyful  and  smiling. 

In  his  hand  Verty  carried  his  old  battered  violin ;  at  his  heels 
stalked  the  grave  and  dignified  Longears. 

"  Good  morning,  Mr.  Roundjacket,"  said  Verty,  smiling ;  "  how 
do  you  do  to-day  ?" 

"Moderate,  moderate,  young  man,"  said  the  gentleman 
addressed ;  "  you  seem,  however,  to  be  at  the  summit  of  human 
felicity." 

"  Anan  ?" 

"Don't  you  know  what  felicity  means,  you  young  savage*?" 

"No,  sir." 

"It  means  bliss." 

Verty  laughed. 

"What  is  that?"  he  said. 


92      MR.   ROUNDJACKET   MAKES   HIMSELF   AGREEABLE. 

Mr.  Roundjacket  flourished  his  ruler,  indignantly. 

"  Astonishing  how  dull  you  are  occasionally  for  such  a  bright 
fellow,"  he  said ;  "  but,  after  the  fashion  of  all  ignoramuses,  and 
as  you  don't  know  what  that  is,  I  declare  you  to  be  one  after 
the  old  fashion.  You  need  illustration.  Now,  listen." 

Verty  sat  down  tuning  his  violin,  and  looking  at  Mr.  Kound 
jacket,  with  a  smile. 

"  Felicity  and  bliss  are  things  which  spring  from  poetry  and 
women  ;  convertible  terms,  you  savage,  but  often  dissevered. 
Suppose,  now,  you  wrote  a  great  poem,  and  read  it  to  the  lady 
of  your  affections,  and  she  said  it  was  better  than  the  Iliad  of 
Homer, — how  would  you  feel,  sir  ?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  Verty  said. 

"  You  would  feel  happiness,  sir." 

"  I  don't  think  I  would  understand  her.  "Who  was  Iliad,  and 
what  was  Homer?" 

Mr.  Roundjacket  nourished  his  ruler,  despairingly. 

"You'll  never  write  a  poem,  and  you'll  never  be  in  love!"  he 
said,  with  solemn  emphasis. 

"  Oh,  you  are  wrong !"  said  Verty,  laying  his  violin  on  the 
desk,  and  caressing  Longears.  "  I  think  I'm  in  love  now,  Mr. 
Roundjacket !" 

"What?" 

"  I'm  in  love." 

"  With  whom  ?" 

"  Redbud,"  said  Verty. 

Roundjacket  looked  at  the  young  man. 

"  Redbud  Summers?"  he  said. 

Verty  nodded. 

Roundjacket' s  face  was  suddenly  illuminated  with  a  smile ; 
and  he  looked  more  intently  still  at  Verty. 

"Tell  me  all  about  it,"  he  said,  with  the  interest  of  a  lover 
himself;  "have  you  had  any  moonlight,  any  flowers,  music,  and 
that  sort  of  things'?" 


MR.  ROUNDJACKET   MAKES   HIMSELF   AGREEABLE.      93 

"  Oh,  yes  !  we  had  the  flowers  !"  said  Verty. 

"  Where  ?" 

"At  old  Scowley's." 

"  Who's  he  ?"  asked  Mr.  Roundjacket,  staring. 

"What !"  cried  Verty,  "don't  you  know  old  Scowley  V ' 

"  No." 

"  She's  Redbud's  school-master — I  mean  school-mistress,  of 
course ;  and  Mr.  Jinks  goes  to  see  Miss  Sallianna." 

Roundjacket  muttered :  "  Really,  a  very  extraordinary  young 
man." 

Then  he  added,  aloud — 

"  Why  do  you  think  you  are  in  love  with  Redbud  f 

"  Because  you  told  me  all  about  it ;  and  I  think  from  what — " 

Just  as  Verty  was  going  on  to  explain,  the  door  of  Mr.  Rush- 
ton's  room  opened  again,  and  Miss  Lavinia  came  forth. 

She  nodded  to  Verty,  and  asked  him  how  he  was. 

"  I'm  very  well,"  said  the  young  man,  "  and  I  hope  you  are 
too,  Miss  Lavinia.  I  saw  your  carriage  at  the  door,  and  knew 
you  were  in  here.  Oh !  how  tight  your  hair  is  curled  !"  he 
added,  laughing. 

Miss  Lavinia  drew  herself  up. 

"  I  reckon  you  are  going  to  see  Redbud,"  said  Verty. 

Miss  Lavinia  looked  intently  at  him. 

"  Yes,"  she  said. 

"  Give  my  love  to  her,''  said  the  young  man,  "  and  tell  her 
I'm  coming  to  see  her  very  soon — just  as  quick  as  I  can  get  oif 
from  this  dull  old  place." 

Which  words  were  accompanied  by  a  smile,  directed  toward 
Roundjacket.  As  to  Miss  Lavinia,  she  stood  aghast  at  Verty's 
extraordinary  communication,  and  for  some  moments  could  not 
get  words  to  express  her  feelings. 

Finally  she  said,  solemnly — 

"  Plow — have  you  been " 

"  To  see  Redbud,  ma'am!" 

"  Yes." 


94      MR.  ROUNDJACKET  MAKES  HIMSELF  AGREEABLE. 

"  I've  been  once,"  Verty  said,  "  and  I'm  going  again." 

Miss  Lavinia's  face  assumed  a  dignified  expression  of  reproof, 
and  she  gazed  at  the  young  man  in  silence.  This  look,  however, 
was  far  from  daunting  him,  and  he  returned  it  with  the  most 
fascinating  smile. 

"  The  fact  is,  Miss  Lavinia,"  he  added,  "  Redbud  wants  some 
body  to  talk  to  up  there.  Old  Scowley,  you  know,  is'nt  agreeable, 
at  least,  I  should' nt  think  she  was;  and  Miss  Sallianna  is  all  the 
time,  I  reckon,  with  Mr.  Jinks.  I  did'nt  see  any  scholars  with 
Redbud ;  but  there  ARE  some  there,  because  you  know  Redbud' s 
pigeon  had  a  paper  round  his  neck,  with  some  words  on  it,  all 
about  how  *  Fanny'  had  given  him  to  her ;  and  so  there's  a 
'  Fanny'  somewhere — don't  you  think  so  ?  But  I  forgot,  you 
don't  know  about  the  pigeon — do  you  T' 

Miss  Lavinia  was  completely  astounded.  "  Old  Scowley," 
"  Mr.  Jinks,"  "  pigeon,"  "  paper  round  his  neck,"  and  "  Fanny," 
— all  these  objects  were  inextricably  mingled  in  her  unfortunate 
brain,  and  she  could  not  disentangle  them  from  each  other,  or 
discover  the  least  clue  to  the  labyrinth.  She,  therefore,  gazed  at 
Verty  with  more  overwhelming  dignity  than  ever,  and  not  deign 
ing  to  make  any  reply  to  his  rhapsody,  sailed  by  with  a  stiff  in 
clination  of  the  head,  toward  the  door.  But  Verty  was  growing 
gallant  under  Mr.  Roundjacket's  teaching.  He  rose  with  great 
good  humor,  and  accompanied  Miss  Lavinia  to  her  carriage — he 
upon  one  side,  the  gallant  head  clerk  on  the  other — and  politely 
assisted  the  lady  into  her  chariot,  all  the  time  smiling  in  a  man 
ner  which  was  pleasant  to  behold. 

His  last  words,  as  the  door  closed  and  the  chariot  drove  off, 
were — 

"  Recollect,  Miss  Lavinia,  please  don't  forget  to  give  my  love 
to  Redbud  !" 

Having  impressed  this  important  point  upon  Miss  Lavinia, 
Verty  returned  to  the  office,  with  the  sighing  Roundjacket,  hum 
ming  one  of  his  old  Indian  airs,  and  caressing  Longears. 


CHAPTEE   XVII. 

MR.  JINKS  AT  HOME. 

THE  young  man  sat  down  at  his  desk,  and  began  to  write.  But 
this  occupation  did  not  seem  to  amuse  him,  and,  in  a  few  mo 
ments,  he  threw  away  the  pen  he  was  writing  with,  and  de 
manded  another  from  Mr.  Roundjacket. 

That  gentleman  complied,  and  made  him  a  new  one. 

Verty  wrote  for  five  minutes  with  the  new  one ;  and  then  split 
it  deplorably.  Mr.  Roundjacket  heard  the  noise,  and  protested 
against  such  carelessness. 

"  Oh,"  sighed  Verty,  "  this  writing  is  a  terrible  thing  to-day  ; 
I  want  a  holiday." 

"  There's  no  holiday  in  law,  sir." 

"  Never  ?" 

"  No,  never." 

"  It's  a  very  slavish  thing,  then,"  Verty  said. 

"  You  are  not  far  wrong  there,  young  man,"  replied  his  com 
panion  ;  "  but  it  also  has  its  delights." 

"  I  have  never  seen  any." 

"  You  are  a  savage." 

"  I  believe  I  am." 

"  Your  character  is  like  your  costume — barbarous." 

"  Yes — Indian,"  said  Verty  ;  "  but  I  just  thought,  Mr.  Round- 
jacket,  of  my  new  suit.  To-day  was  to  be  the  time  for  getting 
it" 

"  Very  true,"  said  the  clerk,  laying  down  his  pen,  "  and  as 
everything  is  best  done  in  order,  we  will  go  at  once." 


96  MR.   JINKS  AT  HOME. 

Roundjacket  opened  Mr.  Rushton's  door,  and  informed  him 
where  he  was  going,  and  for  what  purpose — a  piece  of  informa 
tion  which  was  received  with  a  growl,  and  various  muttered 
ejaculations. 

Verty  had  already  put  on  his  fur  hat. 

"The  fact  is,"  said  Roundjacket,  as  they  issued  forth  into  the 
street  of  the  town,  followed  by  Longears,  "  the  old  fellow,  yon 
der,  is  getting  dreadfully  bearish." 

"  Is  he,  sir  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  and  every  year  it  increases." 

"  I  like  him,  though." 

"  You  are  right,  young  man — a  noble-hearted  man  is  Rushton  ; 
but  unfortunate,  sir, — unfortunate." 

And  Mr.  Roundjacket  shook  his  head. 

"How?" 

"  That's  his  secret — not  mine,"  was  the  reserved  reply. 

"  Well,  I  won't  ask  it,  then,"  Verty  said ;  "  I  never  care  to 
know  anything — there's  the  tailor's,  aint  it  T' 

"  Yes,  that  is  the  shop  of  the  knight  of  the  shears,"  replied  the 
clerk,  with  elegant  paraphrase ;  "  come,  let  us  get  on." 

They  soon  reached  the  tailor's,  which  was  not  far  from  the 
office,  on  the  same  street ;  and  Mr.  O'Brallaghan  came  forward, 
scissors  in  hand,  and  smiling,  like  a  great  ogre,  who  was  going  to 
snip  off  people's  heads,  and  eat  them  for  his  breakfast — only  to 
satisfy  his  hunger,  not  from  any  malevolent  feeling  toward  them. 
Mr.  O'Brallaghan,  as  his  name  intimated,  was  from  the  Emerald 
Isle — was  six  feet  high — had  a  carotty  head,  an  enormous  grin 
ning  mouth,  and  talked  with  the  national  accent.  Indeed,  so 
marked  was  this  accent,  that,  after  mature  consideration,  we 
have  determined  not  to  report  any  of  this  gentleman's  remarks — 
naturally  distrustful  as  we  are  of  our  ability  to  represent  the  tone 
in  which  they  were  uttered,  with  any  degree  of  accuracy.  We 
shall  not  see  him  frequently,  however,  and  may  omit  his  obser 
vations  without  much  impropriety. 


MR.    JINKS   AT   HOME.  97 

Mr.  O'Brallaglmn  surveyed  Verty's  lythe  and  well-knit  figure, 
clad  in  its  rude  forest  costume,  with  patronizing  favor.  But 
when  Roundjacket  informed  him,  with  hauteur,  that  "  his  friend, 
Mr.  Verty,"  would  give  him  an  order  for  three  suits  : — one  plain, 
one  handsome,  one  very  rich — the  great  O'Brallaghan  became 
supple  and  polite  ;  and  evidently  regarded  Mr.  Verty  as  some 
young  lord,  in  disguise. 

He  requested  the  young  man  to  walk  into  the  inner  room, 
where  his  artist  would  take  his  measure  ;  and  this  Verty  did  at 
once. 

Imagine  his  surprise  at  finding  himself  in  the  presence  of — 
Mr.  Jinks ! 

Mr.  Jinks,  no  longer  clad  in  elegant  and  martial  costume,  re 
dolent  equally  of  the  ball-room  and  the  battle-field — no  longer 
moving  majestically  onward  with  wide-stretched  legs,  against 
which  his  warlike  sword  made  dreadful  music — no  longer  deco- 
ratod  with  rosettes,  and  ruffles,  and  embroidery ;  but  seated  on 
the  counter,  in  an  old  dressing-gown,  with  slipper' d  feet  and  lack 
lustre  eyes,  driving  his  rapid  needle  through  the  cloth  with  sav 
age  and  intrepid  spirit. 

Verty  did  not  recognize  him  immediately;  and  Mr.  Jinks  did 
not  observe  the  new  comers  either. 

An  exclamation  from  the  young  man,  however,  attracted  his 
attention,  and  he  started  up. 

"  Mr.  O'Brallaghan !"  cried  the  knight  of  the  needle,  if  we 
may  so  far  plagiarize  upon  Roundjacket's  paraphrase — "  Mr. 
0  Brallaghan  !  this  is  contrary  to  our  contract,  sir.  It  was  un 
derstood,  sir,  that  I  should  be  private,  sir, — and  I  am  invaded 
here  by  a  route  of  people,  sir,  in  violation  of  that  understanding, 
sir !" 

The  emphasis  with  which  Mr.  Jinks  uttered  the  various  "  sirs," 
in  this  address,  was  terrible.  O'Brallaghan  was  evidently  daunted 
by  them. 

"  You  know  I  am  a  great  artist  in  the  cutting  line,  sir,"  said 


98  MB.    J1XKS   AT   HOME. 

Mr.  Jinks,  with  dignity  ;  "  and  that  nobody  can  do  your  fine 
work  but  me,  sir.  You  know  I  have  the  right  to  mature  my 
conceptions  in  private,  sir, — and  that  circumstances  of  another 
description  render  this  privacy  desirable,  sir!  And  yet,  sir,  you 
intrude  upon  me,  sir, — you  intrude !  How  do  you  do,  young 
man? — I  recognize  you,"  added  Mr.  Jinks,  slightly  calmed  by 
his  victory  over  O'Brallaghan,  who  only  muttered  his  sentiments 
in  original  Gaelic,  and  bore  the  storm  without  further  reply. 

"  I  will,  for  once,  break  my  rule,"  said  Mr.  Jinks,  magnani 
mously,  "  and  do  for  this  gentleman,  who  is  my  friend,  what  I 
will  do  for  no  other.  Henceforth,  sir,  recollect  that  I  have  rights ;" 
and  Mr.  Jinks  frowned  ;  then  he  added  to  Verty,  "  Young  man, 
have  the  goodness  to  stand  upon  that  bench." 

O'Brallaghan  and  Roundjacket  retreated  to  the  outer  room, 
where  they  were,  soon  after,  joined  by  Verty,  who  was  laughing. 

"  Well,"  muttered  the  young  man,  "  I  will  not  tell  anybody 
that  Mr.  Jinks  sews,  if  he  don't  want  it  to  be  known — especially 
Miss  Sallianna.  I  reckon  he  is  right — women  don't  like  to  see 
men  do  anything  better  than  them,  as  Mr.  Jinks  says." 

And  Verty  began  to  admire  a  plum-colored  coat  which  was 
lying  on  the  counter. 

"  I  like  this,"  he  said. 

O'Brallaghan  grew  eloquent  on  the  plum-colored  coat — assert 
ing  that  it  was  a  portion  of  a  suit  made  for  one  of  his  most 
elegant  customers,  but  not  sent  for.  He  could,  however,  dispose 
of  it  to  Mr.  Verty,  if  he  wished  to  have  it — there  was  time  to 
make  another  for  the  aforesaid  elegant  customer. 

Verty  tried  the  coat  on,  and  O'Brallaghan  declared,  enthu 
siastically,  that  it  fitted  him  "  bewchously." 

Mr.  Roundjacket  informed  Verty  that  it  would  be  better  to  get 
the  suit,  if  it  fitted,  inasmuch  as  O'Brallaghan  would  probably 
take  double  the  time  he  promised  to  make  his  proper  suit  in — an 
observation  which  O'Brallaghan  repelled  with  indignation ;  and 
so  the  consequence  was,  that  a  quarter  of  an  hour  afterwards 


ME.    JINKS  AT  HOME.  99 

Roundjacket  and  Verty  issued  forth — the  appearance  of  the  latter 
having  undergone  a  remarkable  change. 

Certainly  no  one  would  have  recognized  Verty  at  the  first 
glance.  He  was  clad  in  a  complete  cavalier's  suit — embroidered 
coat-ruffles  and  long  flapped  waistcoat  —  with  knee-breeches, 
stockings  of  the  same  material,  and  glossy  shoes  with  high  red 
heels,  and  fluttering  rosettes;  a  cocked  hat  surmounted  his 
curling  hair,  and  altogether  Yerty  resembled  a  courtier,  and 
walked  like  a  boy  on  stilts. 

Roundjacket  laughed  in  his  sleeve  at  his  companion's  contor 
tions,  and  on  their  way  back  stopped  at  the  barber  and  sur 
geon's.  This  professional  gentleman  clipped  Verty' s  profuse  curls, 
gathered  them  together  carefully  behind,  and  tied  them  with  a 
handsome  bow  of  scarlet  ribbon.  Then  he  powdered  the  boy's 
fine  glossy  hair,  and  held  a  mirror  before  him. 

"  Oh  !  I'm  a  great  deal  better  looking  now,"  said  Verty  ;  "  the 
fact  is,  Mr.  Roundjacket,  my  hair  was  too  long." 

To  this  Mr.  Roundjacket  assented,  and  they  returned,  laughing, 
to  the  office. 

Verty  looked  over  his  shoulder,  and  admired  himself  with  all 
the  innocence  of  a  child  or  a  savage.  One  thing  only  was  dis 
agreeable  to  him — the  high  heels  which  Mr.  O'Brallaghan  had 
supplied  him  with.  Accustomed  to  his  moccasins,  the  heels  were 
not  to  be  endured ;  and  Verty  kicked  both  of  them  off  against 
the  stone  steps  with  great  composure.  Having  accomplished  this 
feat,  he  re-entered. 

"  I'm  easier  now,"  he  said. 

"About  what?" 

"  The  heels." 

Mr.  Roundjacket  looked  down. 

"  I  could'nt  walk  on  'em,  and  knocked  'em  off,"  Verty  said. 

Mr.  Roundjacket  uttered  a  suppressed  chuckle ;  then  stopping 
suddenly,  observed  with  dignity  : — 

"  Young  man,  that  was  very  wrong  in  you.     Mr.  Rushton  has 


100  MR.   JINKS  AT  HOME. 

made  you  a  present  of  that  costume,  and  you  should  not  injure 
it ;   he  will  be  displeased,  sir." 

"  I  will  be  nothing  of  the  sort,"  said  a  growling  voice;  and 
turning  round,  the  clerk  found  himself  opposite  to  Mr.  Rushton, 
who  was  looking  at  Verty  with  a  grim  smile. 

"  Kick  away  just  as  you  please,  my  young  savage,"  said  that 
gentleman,  "and  don't  mind  this  stuff  from  Roundjacket,  who 
don't  know  civilized  from  Indian  character.  Do  just  as  you 
choose." 

"May  I?"  said  Verty. 

"  Am  I  to  repeat  everything  ?" 

"  Well,  sir,  I  choose  to  have  a  holiday  this  morning." 

"Hum!" 

"  You  said  I  might  do  as  I  wanted  to,  and  I  want  to  go  and 
take  a  ride." 

"  Well,  go  then — much  of  a  lawyer  you'll  ever  make." 
""  Verty  laughed,   and  turning   towards  Longears,  called  him. 
But  Longears  hesitated — looking  with  the  most  profound  astonish 
ment  at  his  master. 

"  He  don't  know  me!'1  said  the  young  man,  laughing ;  "I don't 
think  he'll  hunt  if  I  wear  these,  sir." 

But  Mr.  Rushton  had  retired,  and  Verty  only  heard  a  door 
slam. 

He  rose. 

"  I'm  going  to  see  Redbud,  Mr.  Roundjacket,"  he  said,  "  and  I 
think  she'll  like  my  dress — good-bye." 

Roundjacket  only  replied  by  flourishing  his  ruler. 

Verty  put  on  his  cocked  hat,  admired  himself  for  an  instant 
in  the  mirror  over  the  fire-place,  and  went  out  humming  his 
eternal  Indian  song.  Five  minutes  afterwards  he  was  on  his 
way  to  see  Redbud,  followed  dubiously  by  Longears,  who  evidently 
had  not  made  up  his  mind  on  the  subject  of  his  master's  identity. 

In  order  to  explain  the  reception  which  Verty  met  with,  it 
will  be  necessary  to  precede  him. 


CHAPTER   XVIII..'- 

*,,»••'•'',  »>f  I  •  '  ;/;  »v, ; 

HOW  MISS  LAVINIA  DEVELOPED  HER  THEORIES  UPON  MATRIMONY. 

THE  Apple  Orchard  carriage,  containing  the  solemn  Miss 
Lavinia,  very  soon  arrived  at  the  abode  of  old  Scowley,  as  our 
friend  Verty  was  accustomed  to  call  the  respectable  preceptress 
of  Miss  Kedbud ;  and  Miss  Lavinia  descended  and  entered  with 
solemn  dignity. 

Miss  Sallianna  and  herself  exchanged  elaborate  curtseys,  and 
Miss  Lavinia  sailed  into  the  pleasant  sylvan  parlor  and  took  her 
seat  reverely. 

"  Our  dear  little  girls  are  amusing  themselves  this  morning," 
said  Miss  Sallianna,  inclining  her  head  upon  one  shoulder,  and 
raising  her  smiling  eyes  toward  the  ceiling ;  "  the  youthful  mind, 
my  dear  madam,  requires  relaxation,  and  we  do  not  force  it." 

Miss  Lavinia  uttered  a  dignified  "  hem,"  and  passed  her  hand 
kerchief  solemnly  over  her  lips. 

"  In  this  abode  of  the  graces  and  rural  sublunaries,"  continued 
Miss  Sallianna,  gently  flirting  her  fan,  "  our  young  friends  seem 
to  lead  a  very  happy  life." 

"  Yes — I  suppose  so." 

"  Indeed,  madam,  I  may  say  the  time  passes  for  them  in  a 
golden  cadence  of  salubrious  delights,"  said  Miss  Sallianna. 

Her  visitor  inclined  her  head. 

"  If  we  could  only  exclude  completely  all  thoughts  of  the  oppo 
site  sex " 

Miss  Lavinia  listened  with  some  interest  to  this  peroration. 


102  MISS  LAVINIA  TALKS  TO   REDBUD. 

"  If  we  could  live  far  from  the  vain  world  of  man — " 

The  solemn  head  indicated  a  coincidence  of  opinion. 

"  If  we  could  but  dedicate  ourselves  wholly  to  the  care  of  our 
little  flock,  we  should  be  felicitous,"  continued  Miss  Sallianna. 
"  But,  alas !  they  will  come  to  see  us,  madam,  and  we  cannot 
exclude  the  <l<M-gerous  enemy.  I  am  often  obliged  to  send  word 
that  I  am  not  sat  home'  to  the  beaux,  and  yet  that  is  very  cruel. 
Kitt  duty  is  rr,y  guide,  and  I  bow  to  its  bequests." 

With  which  words,  Miss  Sallianna  fixed  her  eyes  resignedly 
upon  the  ceiling,  and  was  silent.  If  Miss  Lavinia  had  labored 
under  the  impression  that  Miss  Sallianna  designed  to  utter  any 
complaints  about  Redbud,  she  did  not  show  that  such  had 
been  her  expectation.  She  only  bowed  and  said,  politely,  that 
if  her  little  cousin  Redbud  was  disengaged,  she  should  like  to  see 
her. 

"  Oh  yes !  she  is  disengaged,"  said  Miss  Sallianna,  with  a 
languishing  smile ;  "  the  dear  child  has  been  roaming  over  the 
garden  and  around  the  ensuing  hills  since  the  first  appearance  ot 
the  radiant  orb  of  Sol,  madam.  I  think  such  perambulations 
healthy." 

Miss  Lavinia  said  that  she  agreed  with  her. 

"  Reddy,  as  I  call  your  lovely  little  niece — your  cousin,  eh  ? — 
is  one  of  rny  most  cherished  pupils,  madam ;  and  I  discover  in 
her  so  many  charming  criterions  of  excellence,  that  I  am  sure  she 
will  grow  up  an  object  of  interest  to  everybody.  There  she  is 
out  on  the  lawn.  I  will  call  her,  madam,  and  if  you  would  dis 
pense  with  my  society  for  a  short  time,  I  will  again  return,  and 
we  will  discuss  my  favorite  subject,  the  beauties  of  nature." 

Miss  Lavinia  having,  by  a  solemn  movement  of  the  head,  indi 
cated  her  willingness  to  languish  without  her  hostess'  society  for 
a  short  period,  Miss  Sallianna  rose,  and  made  her  exit  from  the 
apartment,  with  upraised  eyes  and  gently  smiling  lips. 

Five  minutes  afterwards  Redbud  ran  in,  laughing  and  rosy- 
cheeked. 


MISS   LAVINIA   TALKS   TO   EEDBUD.  103 

(t  Oh,  cousin  Lavinia !"  she  cried,  "  I'm  so  glad  to  see  you  !" 

Miss  Lavinia  enclosed  her  young  relation  in  a  dignified  em 
brace,  and  kissed  her  solemnly. 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you  looking  so  well,  Redbud,"  she  said, 
indicating  a  cricket  at  her  feet,  upon  which  Miss  Redbud  ac 
cordingly  seated  herself.  I  have  not  been  able  before  to  come 
and  see  you,  but  Miss  Scowley  gives  me  excellent  accounts  of 
you." 

"  Does  she  !"  laughed  Redbud. 

"  Yes." 

Redbud  laughed  again. 

"  What  is  the  cause  of  your  amusement  ?"  said  Miss  Lavinia. 

"  Oh,  I  only  meant  that  she  told  everybody  who  came,  that 
everybody  was  good." 

"  Hum  !" 

"  She  does,"  said  Redbud. 

"  Then  you  mean  that  you  do  not  deserve  her  praise  f 

"  Oh,  I  did'nt  mean  that,  cousin  Lavinia !  I'm  very  glad  she 
likes  me.  I  want  everybody  to  like  me.  But  it's  true." 

"  I  believe  you  are  good,  Redbud,"  Miss  Lavinia  said,  calmly. 

"  I  hope  so,  ma'am." 

"  Are  you  happy  here  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,  ma'am — except  that  I  would  like  to  be  at  home  to 
see  you  all." 

"Do  you  miss  us?" 

"Oh  yes,  indeed!" 

Miss  Lavinia  cleared  her  throat,  and  began  to  revolve  her  ad 
dress  to  be  delivered. 

"  You  do  not  see  us  very  often,  Redbud,"  she  said, — "  I  mean 
myself  and  your  father — but  from  what  I  have  heard  this  morn 
ing,  that  young  man  Verty  still  visits  you." 

Redbud  colored,  and  did  not  reply. 

Miss  Lavinia' s  face  assumed  an  expression  of  mingled  severity 
and  dignity,  and  she  said  to  the  girl  • 


lOi  MISS   LAVIN1A   TALKS   TO    KEDBUD. 

"  Redbud,  I  am  sorry  you  do  not  observe  the  advice  I  gave 
you, — of  course,  I  have  no  right  to  command  you,  and  you  are 
now  growing  old  enough  to  act  for  yourself  in  these  things.  You 
are  nearly  seventeen,  and  are  growing  to  be  a  woman.  But  I 
fear  you  are  deficient  in  resolution,  and  still  encourage  the  visits 
of  this  young  man." 

Poor  Redbud  was  silent — she  could  not  deny  the  accusation. 

Miss  Lavinia  looked  at  her  with  grim  affection,  and  said  : 

"  I  hope,  Redbud,  that,  in  future,  you  will  be  more  careful. 
I  am  sorry  to  be  compelled  to  say  it — but  Verty  is  not  a  proper 
person  for  you  to  remain  upon  such  intimate  and  confidential 
terms  with.  He  has  good  qualities,  and  is  very  sensible  and 
kind-hearted  ;  but  he  is  a  mere  Indian,  and  cannot  have  any 
thing  in  common  with  one  so  much  his  superior  in  station,  as 
yourself." 

"Oh,  ma'am — !"  began  Redbud. 

"  Speak  plainly,"  said  Miss  Lavinia ;  "do  not  be  afraid." 

"  I  was  only  going  to  say  that  I  am  not  superior  to  Verty," 
Redbud  added,  with  tears  in  her  eyes  ;  "  he  is  so  good,  and  kind, 
and  sincere." 

"  You  misunderstand  me — I  did  not  mean  that  he  was  not  a 
proper  companion  for  you,  as  far  as  his  character  went ;  for, 
I  say  again,  that  his  character  is  perfectly  good.  But — child 
that  you  are ! — you  cannot  comprehend  yet  that  something 
more  is  wanting — that  Verty  is  an  Indian,  and  of  unknown 
parentage." 

Poor  Redbud  struggled  to  follow  Miss  Lavinia' s  meaning. 

"I  see  that  I  must  speak  plainly,"  said  that  lady,  solemnly, 
"and  I  will  commence  by  saying,  Redbud,  that  the  whole  male 
sex  are  always  engaged  in  endeavoring  to  make  an  impression  on 
the  hearts  of  the  other  sex.  The  object  to  which  every  young 
man,  without  exception,  dedicates  his  life,  is  to  gain  the  ascend 
ancy  over  the  heart  of  some  young  person  of  the  opposite  sex ; 
and  they  well  know  that  when  this  ascendancy  is  gained,  break- 


MISS  LAVINIA  TALKS  TO  EEDBUD.  105 

ing  it  is  often  more  than  human  power  can  accomplish.  Young 
girls  should  carefully  avoid  all  this,  and  should  always  remember 
that  the  intimacies  formed  in  early  life,  last,  generally,  through 
out  their  whole  existence." 

Redbud  looked  down,  and  felt  a  strong  disposition  to  wipe  her 
eyes. 

Miss  Lavinia  proceeded,  like  an  ancient  oracle,  impassible  and 
infallible. 

"  Now,  I  mean,  Redbud,"  she  said,  "  that  while  Verty  may 
be,  and  no  doubt  is,  all  that  you  could  wish  in  a  friend,  you  still 
ought  not  to  encourage  him,  and  continue  your  injudicious  friend 
ship.  Far  be  it  from  me  to  insist  upon  the  necessity  of  classes  in 
the  community,  and  the  impropriety  of  marrying  those  who  are 
uncongenial  in  taste  and  habit,  and — " 

"  Marrying,  ma'am  !"  exclaimed  Redbud — then  she  stopped. 

"  Yes,  Redbud,"  said  Miss  Lavinia,  with  dignity,  "  and  nothing 
will  persuade  me  that  this  young  man  has  not  conceived  the  de 
sign  of  marrying  you.  I  do  not  say,  mind  me,  that  he  is  actuated 
by  unworthy  motives — I  have  no  right  to.  I  do  not  believe  that 
this  young  man  has  ever  reflected  that  Apple  Orchard,  a  very 
fine  estate,  will  some  day  be  yours.  I  only  say  that,  like  all 
youths,  he  has  set  his  heart  upon  possessing  your  hand,  and  that 
he  is  not  a  proper  husband  for  you." 

Having  uttered  this  downright  and  unmistakeable  opinion,  Miss 
Lavinia  raised  her  head  with  dignity,  and  smoothed  down  her 
silk  dress  with  solemn  grace. 

As  to  poor  Redbtfd,  she  could  only  lean  her  head  on  her  hand, 
and  endeavor  to  suppress  her  gathering  tears. 

"  Verty  is  an  Indian,  and  a  young  man  of  obscure  birth — 
wholly  uneducated,  and,  generally  speaking,  a  savage,  though  a 
harmless  one,"  said  the  lady,  returning  to  the  charge.  "  Now, 
Redbud,  you  cannot  fail  to  perceive  that  it  is  impossible  for  you 
to  marry  an  Indian  whom  nobody  knows  anything  about.  Your 

5 


106  HISS  LAVINIA   TALKS  TO   REDBUD. 

family  have  claims  upon  you,  and  these  you  cannot  disregard, 
and  unite  yourself  to  one  of  an  inferior  race,  who —  " 

"  Oh,  cousin  Lavinia !  cousin  Lavinia !"  cried  Redbud,  with  a 
gush  of  tears,  "  please  don't  talk  to  me  any  more  about  this ;  you 
make  me  feel  so  badly!  Verty  never  said  a  word  tome  about 
marrying,  and  it  would  be  foolish.  Marry !  Oh !  you  know  I 
am  nothing  but  a  child,  and  you  make  me  very  unhappy  by 
talking  so." 

Redbud  leaned  her  forehead  on  her  hand,  and  wiped  away  the 
tears  running  down  her  cheeks. 

"It  is  not  agreeable  to  me  to  mention  this  subject,"  Miss 
Lavinia  said,  solemnly,  smoothing  Redbud' s  disordered  hair, 
"  but  I  consider  it  my  duty,  child.  You  have  said  truly  that 
you  are  still  very  young,  and  that  it  is  ridiculous  to  talk  about 
your  being  married.  But,  Redbud,  the  day  will  come  when  you 
will  be  a  woman,  and  then  you  will  find  this  intimacy  with  Verty 
a  stone  around  your  neck.  I  wish  to  warn  you  in  time.  These 
early  friendships  are  only  productive  of  suffering,  when  in  course 
of  time  they  must  be  dissolved.  I  wish  to  ward  off  this  suffering 
from  you  !" 

"  Oh,  ma'am !"  sobbed  Redbud. 

u  I  love  you  very  much." 

"  Yes,  ma'am." 

"  And  as  I  have  more  experience  than  you,"  said  Miss  Lavinia, 
grimly — "  more  knowledge  of  the  wiles  of  men,  I  consider  it  my 
duty  to  direct  your  conduct." 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  said  Redbud,  seeing  the  wall  closing  round  her 
inexorably. 

"  If,  then,  you  would  spare  Verty  suffering,  as  well  as  your 
self,  you  will  gradually  place  your  relations  on  a  different  basis." 

"On — a — dif — ferent — basis,"  said  Redbud;  "Yes,  ma'am." 

"  It  may  be  done,"  said  Miss  Lavinia  ;  "  and  do  not  understand 
me,  child,  to  counsel  an  abrupt  and  violent  breaking  off  of  all  the 
ties  between  yourself  and  this  young  man." 


MISS  LAVINIA  TALKS  TO  KEDBUD.  107 

"  No,  ma'am." 

"You  may  do  it  gradually;  make  your  demeanor  toward 
him  calmer  at  every  interview — if  he  must  come — do  not  have  so 
many  confidential  conversations — never  call  him  '  Verty'  " — 

"Oh,  ma'am!"  said  Redbud,  "but  I  can't  call  him  Mr. 
Verty." 

"  Don't  call  him  anything,"  said  the  astute  enemy  of  the  male 
sex,  "  and  gradually  add  'sir'  to  the  end  of  your  observations. 
In  this  manner,  Redbud,  you  may  place  your  relations  on  an 
entirely  different  footing." 

"Yes,  ma'am  !" 

Miss  Lavinia  looked  at  the  child  for  some  moments  with  a 
singular  expression  of  commiseration.  Then  smoothing  the  small 
head  again,  she  said  more  softly : — 

"  What  I  advise  is  for  your  own  good,  Redbud.  I  only  aim 
at  your  happiness.  Pursue  the  plan  I  have  indicated,  and  when 
ever  you  can,  avoid  this  young  man — as  you  will  both  suffer. 
Men,  men,"  murmured  Miss  Lavinia,  "  they  are  our  masters,  and 
ask  nothing  better  than  that  delightful  tribute  to  their  power — a 
broken  heart." 

"  Yes,  yes,  Redbud,"  said  the  solemn  lady,  rising,  "  this  advice 
I  have  given  you  is  well  worthy  of  your  attention.  Both  you 
and  this  young  man  will  undergo  cruel  suffering  if  you  persist  in 
your  present  relations.  I  will  say  no  more.  I  have  done  my 
duty,  and  I  am  sure  you  will  not  think  that  I  am  actuated  by 
old-maidish  scruples,  and  have  made  a  bugbear  for  myself.  I 
love  you,  Redbud,  as  well  as  I  love  any  one  in  the  world,  and  all 
I  have  said  is  for  your  good.  Now  I  must  go." 

And  Miss  Lavinia  solemnly  enclosed  the  weeping  girl  in  her 
arms,  and  returned  to  her  carriage.  Before  her  sailed  Miss 
Sallianna,  smiling  and  languishing — her  eyes  upon  the  sky,  and 
uttering  the  most  elegant  compliments.  These  were  received  by 
Miss  Lavinia  with  grave  politeness  ;  and  finally  the  two  ladies 
inclined  their  heads  to  each  other,  and  the  carriage  drove  off 


108  MISS  LAVINIA  TALKS  TO  REDBUD. 

toward  Winchester,  followed  by  Kedbud's  eye.  That  young  lady 
was  standing  at  the  window,  refusing  to  be  comforted  by  her 
friend  Fanny — who  had  given  her  the  pigeon,  it  will  be  remem 
bered — an(j  obstinately  bent  on  proving  to  herself  that  she  was 
the  most  wretched  young  lady  who  had  ever  existed. 

Meanwhile  Miss  Lavinia  continued  her  way,  gazing  in  a 
dignified  attitude  from  the  window  of  her  carriage.  Just  as  she 
reached  the  bottom  of  the  hill,  what  was  her  horror  to  perceive 
a,  cavalier  approach  from  the  opposite  direction — an  elegant 
cavalier,  mounted  on  a  shaggy  horse,  and  followed  by  a  long- 
eared  hound — in  whose  richly  clad  person  she  recognized  the 
whilom  forest  boy. 

Miss  Lavinia  held  up  both  her  hands,  and  uttered  an  exclama 
tion  of  horror. 

As  to  Verty,  he  passed  rapidly,  with  a  fascinating  smile,  saying, 
as  he  disappeared  : — 

"  I  hope  you  gave  my  love  to  Redbud,  Miss  Lavinia  !" 

Miss  Lavinia  could  only  gasp. 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

ONLY  A  FEW  TEAKS. 

THE  theories  of  Miss  Lavinia  upon  life  and  matrimony  had  so 
much  truth  in  them,  in  spite  of  the  address  and  peculiarities 
of  the  opinions  upon  which  they  were  based,  that  Redbud 
was  compelled  to  acknowledge  their  justness;  and,  as  a  conse 
quence  of  this  acknowledgment,  to  shape  her  future  demeanor 
toward  the  young  man  in  conformity  with  the  advice  of  her 
mentor. 

Therefore,  when  Miss  Redbud  saw  Verty  approach,  clad  in  his 
new  costume,  and  radiant  with  happy  expectation,  she  hastily  left 
the  window  at  which  she  had  been  standing,  and,  in  the  depths 
of  her  chamber,  sought  for  strength  and  consolation. 

Let  no  one  deride  the  innocent  prayer  of  the  child,  and  say 
that  it  was  folly,  and  unworthy  of  her.  The  woes  of  youth  are 
not  our  woes,  and  the  iron  mace  which  strikes  down  the  stalwart 
man,  falls  not  more  heavily  upon  his  strong  shoulders,  than  does 
the  straw  which  bears  to  the  earth  the  weak  heart  of  childhood. 

Then,  when  the  man  frowns,  and  clenches  his  hand  against 
the  hostile  fate  pressing  upon  him,  the  child  only  weeps,  and 
endeavors  to  avoid  the  suffering. 

Redbud  suffered  no  little.  She  loved  Verty  very  sincerely  as 
the  playmate  of  her  earlier  years,  and  the  confidential  friend  of 
her  happiest  hours.  The  feeling  which  was  ripening  in  her 
heart  had  not  yet  revealed  itself,  and  she  felt  that  the  barrier  now 
raised  between  herself  and  the  young  man  was  cruel.  But, 


110  ONLY  A  FEW  TEARS. 

then,  suddenly,  she  would  recollect  Miss  Lavinia's  words,  recall 
that  warning,  that  they  both  would  suffer — and  so  poor  Redbud 
was  very  unhappy — very  much  confused — not  at  all  like  herself. 

We  have  said  very  little  of  this  child's  character,  preferring 
rather  to  let  the  current  of  our  narrative  reflect  her  pure  fea 
tures  from  its  surface,  as  it  flowed  on  through  those  old  border 
days  which  were  illustrated  and  adorned  by  the  soft  music  of  her 
voice,  the  kindness  of  her  smile.  Perhaps,  however,  this  is  a 
favorable  occasion  to  lay  before  the  reader  what  was  written 
by  a  poor  pen,  in  after  years,  about  the  child,  by  one  who 
had  loved,  and  been  rendered  purer  by  her.  Some  one,  no  mat 
ter  who,  had  said  to  him  one  day — "  Tell  me  about  little  Redbud, 
whom  you  praise  so  much" — and  he  had  taken  his  pen  and 
written — 

"  How  can  I  ?  There  are  some  figures  that  cannot  be  painted, 
as  there  are  some  melodies  which  cannot  be  uttered  by  the  softest 
wind  which  ever  swept  the  harp  of  ^Eolus.  You  can  scarcely 
delineate  a  star,  and  the  glories  of  the  sunset  die  away,  and  live 
not  upon  canvas.  How  difficult,  then,  the  task  you  have  imposed 
upon  me,  amigo  mio — to  seal  up  in  a  wicker  flask  that  moonlight ; 
chain  down,  by  words,  that  flitting  and  almost  imperceptible  per 
fume — to  tell  you  anything  about  that  music  which,  embodied  in 
a  material  form,  was  known  as  Redbud ! 

"  Observe  how  I  linger  on  the  threshold,  and  strive  to  evade 
what  I  have  promised  to  perform.  What  can  I  say  of  the  little 
friend  who  made  so  many  of  my  hours  pure  sunshine?  She 
was  the  most  graceful  creature  I  have  ever  seen,  I  think,  and 
surely  merrier  lips  and  eyes  were  never  seen — eyes  very  blue  and 
soft — hair  golden,  and  flowing  like  sunset  on  her  shoulders — a 
mouth  which  had  a  charming  archness  in  it — and  withal  an  in 
nocence  and  modesty  which  made  one  purer.  These  were  the 
first  traits  of  the  child,  she  was  scarcely  more,  which  struck  a 
stranger.  But  she  grew  in  beauty  as  you  conversed  with  her. 
She  had  the  most  delightful  voice  I  have  ever  heard — the  kindest 


ONLY  A   FEW  TEAKS.  Ill 

and  most  tender  smile ;  and  one  could  not  long  be  in  her  company 
without  feeling  that  good  fortune  had  at  last  thrown  him  with 
one  of  those  pure  beings  which  seem  to  be  sent  down  to  the 
earth,  from  time  to  time,  to  show  us,  poor  work-a-day  mortals, 
that  there  are  scales  of  existence,  links  as  it  were,  between  the 
inhabitants  of  this  world  and  the  angels :  for  the  heavenly  good 
ness,  which  sent  into  the  circle  which  I  lived  in  such  a  pure  ray 
of  the  dawn,  to  verify  and  illumine  the  pathway  of  my  life — 
thanks — thanks ! 

"  How  beautiful  and  graceful  she  was  !  When  she  ran  along, 
singing,  her  fair  golden  locks  rippling  back  from  her  pure  brow  and 
rosy  cheeks,  I  thought  a  sunbeam  came  and  went  with  her.  The 
secret  of  Redbud's  universal  popularity — for  everybody  loved  her 
— was,  undoubtedly,  that  love  which  she  felt  for  every  one  around 
her.  There  was  so  much  tenderness  and  kindness  in  her  heart, 
that  it  shone  in  her  countenance,  and  spoke  plainly  in  her  eyes. 
Upon  the  lips,  what  a  guileless  innocence  and  softness ! — in  the 
kind,  frank  eyes,  what  all-embracing  love  for  God's  creatures 
everywhere  !  She  would  not  tread  upon  a  worm  ;  and  I  recol 
lect  to  this  day,  what  an  agony  of  tears  she  fell  into  upon  one 
occasion,  when  some  boys  killed  the  young  of  an  oriole,  and  the 
poor  bird  sat  singing  its  soul  away  for  grief  upon  the  poplar. 

"  Redbud  had  a  strong  vein  of  piety  in  her  character ;  and  this 
crowning  grace  gave  to  her  an  inexpressible  charm.  Whatever 
men  may  say,  there  are  few  who  do  not  reverence,  and  hope  to 
find  in  those  they  love,  this  feeling.  The  world  is  a  hard  school, 
and  men  must  strike  alone  everywhere.  In  the  struggle,  it  is 
almost  impossible  to  prevent  the  mind  from  gathering  those  bitter 
experiences  which  soil  it.  It  is  so  hard  not  to  hate  so  tremen 
dous  a  task,  to  strangle  that  harsh  and  acrid  emotion  of  contempt, 
which  is  so  apt  to  subdue  us,  and  make  the  mind  the  hue  of 
what  it  works  in,  *  like  the  dyer's  hand.'  Men  feel  the  necessity 
of  something  purer  than  themselves,  on  which  to  lean ;  and  this 
they  find  in  woman,  with  the  nutriment  I  have  spoken  of — the 


112  ONLY  A  FEW  TEAES. 

piety  of  this  child.  It  did  not  make  her  grave,  but  cheerful ;  and 
nothing  could  be  imagined  more  delightful,  than  her  smiles  and 
laughter.  Sometimes,  it  is  true,  you  might  perceive  upon  her 
brow  what  resembled  the  shadow  of  a  cloud  floating  over  the 
bright  autumn  fields — and  in  her  eyes  a  thoughtful  dew,  which 
made  them  swim,  veiling  their  light  from  you ;  but  this  was  sel 
dom.  As  I  have  spoken  of  her,  such  she  was- — a  bright  spirit, 
who  seemed  to  scatter  around  her  joy  and  laughter,  gilding  all 
the  world  she  lived  in  with  the  kindness  of  her  smiles. 

"  Such,  amigo  mio,  was  little  Redbud  when  I  knew  her ;  and  I 
have  spoken  of  her  as  well  as  I  could.  No  one  can  be  more 
conscious  of  the  insufficiency  of  my  outline  than  myself.  My 
only  excuse  is,  a  want  of  that  faculty  of  the  brain  which — unit 
ing  memory,  that  is  to  say,  the  heart,  with  criticism,  which  is  the 
intellect — is  able  to  embody  with  the  lips,  or  the  pen,  such  figures 
as  have  appeared  upon  the  horizon  of  life.  I  can  only  say  that 
I  never  went  near  the  child,  but  I  was  made  better  by  her  sin 
cere  voice.  I  never  took  her  hand  in  my  own,  but  a  nameless 
influence  seemed  to  enter  into  my  heart,  and  purify  it.  And 
now,  amigo,  I  have  written  it  all,  and  you  may  laugh  at  me  for 
my  pains ;  but  that  is  not  a  matter  of  very  great  importance. 
Farewell !" 

It  is  rather  an  anti-climax,  after  this  somewhat  practical  ac 
count  of  our  little  heroine,  to  inform  the  reader  that  Redbud  was 
sitting  down,  crying.  Such  was,  however,  the  fact ;  and  as  con 
scientious  historians  we  cannot  conceal  it.  Overwhelmed  by 
Miss  Lavinia's  fatal  logic,  she  had  no  choice,  no  course  but  one 
to  pursue — to  avoid  Verty,  and  thus  ward  off  that  prospective 
"  suffering  ;"  and  so,  with  a  swelling  heart  and  a  heated  brain, 
our  little  heroine  could  find  no  better  resource  than  tears,  and 
sobs,  and  sighs. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

HOW   MISS   FANNY   SLAMMED   THE    DOOR   IN   VERTY's   FACE, 

As  Redbud  sat  thus  disconsolate,  a  footstep  in  the  apartment 
attracted  her  attention,  and  raising  her  tearful  eyes,  she  saw  her 
friend  Fanny,  who  had  run  in,  laughing,  as  was  her  wont. 
Fanny  was  a  handsome  little  brunette,  about  Redbud's  age,  and 
full  of  merriment  and  glee — perhaps  sparkle  would  be  the  better 
word,  inasmuch  as  this  young  lady  always  seemed  to  be  upon  the 
verge  of  laughter — brim  full  with  it,  and  ready  to  overflow,  like 
a  goblet  of  Bohemian  glass  filled  with  the  "  foaming  draught  of 
eastern  France,"  if  we  may  be  permitted  to  make  so  unworthy  a 
comparison.  Her  merry  black  eyes  were  now  dancing,  and  her 
ebon  curls  rippled  from  her  smooth  dark  brow  like  midnight 
waves. 

"  Oh  !  here's  your  beau,  Reddy  !"  cried  Miss  Fanny,  clapping 
her  hands  ;  "  you  pretended  not  to  know  him  as  he  came  up  the 
hill.  Make  haste !  you  never  saw  such  an  elegant  cavalier  as  he 
has  made  himself!" 

Redbud  only  smiled  sadly,  and  turned  away  her  head. 

Miss  Fanny  attributed  this  manoeuvre  to  a  feeling  very  dif 
ferent  from  the  real  one ;  and  clapping  her  hands  more  joyfully 
than  ever,  cried : 

u  There  you  are !  I  believe  you  are  going  to  pretend  he  ain't 
your  beau  !  But  you  need  not,  madam.  As  if  I  did'nt  know  all 
about  it —  " 

"  Oh,  Fanny  !"  murmured  poor  Redbud. 

5* 


114        FANNY  SLAMS  THE  DOOR  IN  VERTY'S  FACE. 

"  Come !  no  secrets  from  me !  That  old  Miss  Lavinia  has 
treated  you  badly,  I  know ;  I  don't  know  how,  but  she  made 
you  cry,  and  I  will  not  have  anything  to  say  to  her,  if  she  is  your 
cousin.  Forget  all  about  it,  Reddy,  and  make  haste  down, 
Verty  is  waiting  for  you — and  oh !  he's  so  elegant.  I  never  saw 
a  nicer  fellow,  and  you  know  I  always  thought  he  was  handsome. 
I  would  set  my  cap  at  him,"  said  Miss  Fanny,  with  a  womanly 
air,  "  if  it  was'nt  for  you." 

Redbud  only  murmured  something. 

"  Come  on  !"  cried  Fanny,  trying  to  raise  her  friend  forcibly, 
"  I  tell  you  Verty  is  waiting,  and  you  are  only  losing  so  much 
talk  ;  they  never  will  let  our  beaux  stay  long  enough,  and  as  to 
day's  holiday,  you  will  have  a  nice  chat.  My  cousin  Ralph,  you 
know,  is  coming  to  see  me  to-day,  and  we  can  have  such  a  nice 
walk  out  on  the  hill — come  on,  Reddy!  we'll  have  such  a  fine 
time!" 

Suddenly  Miss  Fanny  caught  sight  of  the  tears  in  Redbud's 
eyes,  and  stopped. 

"  What !  crying  yet  at  that  old  Miss  Lavinia !"  she  said  ; 
"  how  can  you  mind  her  so !" 

i  "  Oh  !  I'm  very  unhappy  !"  said  poor  Redbud,  bursting  into 
tears  ;  her  self-control  had  given  away  at  last.  "Don't  mind  me, 
Fanny,  but  I  can't  help  it — please  don't  talk  any  more  about 
Verty,  or  walking  out,  or  anything." 

Fanny  looked  at  her  friend  for  a  moment,  and  the  deep  sad 
ness  on  Redbud's  face  banished  all  her  laughter. 

"Why  not  talk  about  him1?"  she  said,  sitting  down  by  Red- 
bud. 

"  Because  I  can't  see  him  any  more." 

"  Can't  see  him  !" 

"N»— not  to-day." 

"Why?" 

Redbud  wiped  her  eyes. 

"  Because — because— oh  !  I  can't  tell  you,  Fanny ! — I  can't — 


FANNY  SLAMS   THE  DOOR  IN   VERTY'S  FACE.        115 

it's  wrong  in  cousin  Lavinia ! — I  know  it  is  ! — I  never  meant 

oh!  I  am  so  unhappy  !" 

And  Redbud  ended  by  bursting  into  a  flood  of  tears,  which 
caused  the  impulsive  and  sympathetic  Fanny,  whose  lips  had  for 
some  moments  been  twitching  nervously,  to  do  the  same. 

"Don't  cry,  Fanny — please  don't  cry!"  said  Redbud. 

"I'm  not  crying  !"  said  Miss  Fanny,  shedding  floods  of  tears — 
"I'm  not  sorry — I'm  mad  with  Miss  Lavinia  for  making  you 
cry;  I  hate  her  !" 

"  Oh  !"  sobbed  Redbud;  ik  that  is  very  wrong." 

"I  don't  care." 

"  She's  my  cousin." 

"  No  matter !  She  had  no  business  coming  here  and  making 
you  unhappy." 

With  which  Miss  Fanny  sniffed,  if  that  very  inelegant  word 
may  be  applied  to  any  action  performed  by  so  elegant  a  young 
lady. 

"  Yes !  she  had  no  business — the  old  cat  P  continued  the  im 
pulsive  Fanny,  "  and  I  feel  as  if  I  could  scratch  her  eyes  out ! — 
to  make  you  cry  !" 

"  But  I  won't  any  more,"  said  Redbud,  beginning  afresh. 

"  And  I  will  stop,  too,"  said  Fanny,  becoming  hysterical. 

After  which  solemn  determination  to  be  calm,  and  not  display 
any  further  emotion  on  any  account,  the  two  young  ladies, 
sinking  into  each  other's  arms,  cried  until  their  white  hand 
kerchiefs  were  completely  wetted  by  their  tears. 

They  had  just  managed  to  suppress  their  emotion  somewhat 
— preparatory  to  commencing  again,  doubtless — when  the  door 
of  the  apartment  opened,  and  a  servant  girl  announced  to  Miss 
Redbud  that  a  gentleman  had  come  to  see  her,  and  was  waiting 
for  that  purpose  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs. 

"  Oh !  I  can't  see  him,"  said  Redbud,  threatening  a  new 
shower. 

"  You  shall !"  said  Fanny,  laughing  through  her  tears. 


116        FANNY  SLAMS  THE   BOOK   IN  VERTY'S   FACE. 

"  Oh,  no  !  no  !"  said  Redbud. 

"  What  shall  I  tell  'urn,  Miss,"  said  the  servant  ? 

"  Oh,  I  can't  go  down — tell  Verty  that — " 

"  She'll  be  down  in  a  minute,"  finished  Fanny. 

"No,  no,  I  must  not!" 

«  You  shall !" 

"Fanny—!" 

"Come,  no  nonsense,  Reddy !  there!  I  hear  his  voice — oh, 
me !  my  goodness  gracious  !" 

These  sudden  and  apparently  remarkable  exclamations  may 
probably  appear  mysterious  and  without  reason  to  the  respected 
readers  who  do  us  the  honor  to  peruse  our  history ;  but  they 
were  in  reality  not  at  all  extraordinary  under  the  circumstances, 
and  were,  indeed,  just  what  might  have  been  expected,  on  the 
generally  accepted  theories  of  cause  and  effect. 

In  a  single  word,  then,  the  lively  Miss  Fanny  had  uttered  the 
emphatic  words,  "  Oh,  me ! — my  goodness  gracious  !"  because 
she  had  heard  upon  the  staircase  the  noise  of  a  masculine  foot 
step,  and  caught  sight  of  a  masculine  cocked-hat  ascending ; — 
which  phenomenon,  arguing  again  upon  the  theories  of  cause  and 
effect,  plainly  indicated  that  a  head  was  under  the  chapeau — the 
head  of  one  of  the  opposite  sex. 

Redbud  raised  her  head  quickly  at  her  friend's  exclamation, 
and  discerned  the  reason  therefor.  She  understood,  at  a  glance, 
that  Verty  had  become  impatient,  waiting  in  the  hall  down 
stairs  ; — had  heard  her  voice  from  the  room  above ;  and,  following 
his  wont  at  Apple  Orchard,  quite  innocently  bethought  himself  of 
saving  Redbud  the  trouble  of  descending,  by  ascending  to  her. 

Verty  sent  his  voice  before  him- — a  laughing  and  jubilant 
voice,  which  asked  for  Redbud. 

Fanny  jumped  up  and  ran  to  the  door,  just  as  the  young  man 
placed  his  foot  upon  the  landing,  and  stood  before  the  group. 

Verty  made  a  low  bow,  and  greeted  Miss  Fanny  with  one  of 
the  most  fascinating  smiles  which  could  possibly  be  imagined. 


FANNY  SLAMS  THE  DOOR  IN  VERTY'S  FACE.          117 

Fanny  slammed  the  door  in  his  face,  without  the  least  hesita 
tion. 

For  a  moment,  Verty  stood  motionless  and  bewildered,  vainly 
striving  to  make  out  what  this  extraordinary  occurrence  meant. 
At  Apple  Orchard,  as  we  have  said,  the  doors  had  never  been 
slammed  in  his  face.  On  the  contrary,  he  had  ranged  freely  over 
the  mansion,  amusing  himself  as  seemed  best  to  him  :  taking 
down  a  volume  here — opening  a  closet  there — strolling  into  the 
Squire's  room,  or  Eedbud' s  room,  where  that  young  lady  was 
studying — and  even  into  the  apartment  of  the  dreadful  Miss  La- 
vinia,  where  sat  that  solemn  lady,  engaged  in  the  task  of  keeping 
the  household  wardrobe,  stockings,  and  what  not,  in  good  condi 
tion.  No  one  had  ever  told  Verty  that  there  was  the  least  im 
propriety  in  this  proceeding ;  and  now,  when  he  only  meant  to 
do  what  he  had  done  a  thousand  times  before,  he  had  a  door 
banged  in  his  face,  as  if  he  were  a  thief  with  hostile  intentions 
toward  the  spoons. 

For  some  moments,  therefore,  as  we  have  said,  the  young  man 
stood  thunderstruck  and  motionless.  Then,  considering  the 
whole  affair  a  joke,  he  began  to  laugh  ;  and  essayed  to  open  the 
door. 

In  vain.     Fanny,  possibly  foreseeing  this,  had  turned  the  key. 

"  Eedbud  !"  said  Verty. 

"  Sir  ?"  said  a  voice  ;  not  Eedbud' s,  however. 

"  Let  me  in." 

"  I  shall  do  nothing  of  the  sort,"  replied  the  voice. 

"Why?"  said  Verty,  with  ready  philosophy;  "it's  nobody 
but  me." 

"  Hum  I"  said  the  voice  again,  in  indignant  protest  against  the 
force  of  any  such  reasoning. 

"  You  are  not  Eedbud,"  continued  the  cavalier  ;  "  I  want  to 
see  Eedbud." 

"  Well,  sir, — go  down,  and  Eeddy  may  come  and  see  you," 
the  voice  replied  ;  "  as  long  as  you  stand  there,  you  will  not  lay 
eyes  on  her — if  you  stay  a  week,  or  a  year." 


118  FANNY  SLAMS  THE  DOOE  IN  VERTY'S  FACE. 

At  this  dreadful  threat,  Verty  retreated  from  the  door.  The 
idea  of  not  seeing  Redbud  for  a  year  was  horrible. 

"  Will  you  come  down,  Redbud,  if  I  go  ?"  he  asked. 

Voices  heard  in  debate. 

"Say?"  said  Verty. 

After  a  pause,  the  voice  which  had  before  spoken,  said : 

"  Yes  ;  go  down  and  wait  ten  minutes." 

Verty  heaved  a  sigh,  and  slowly  descended  to  the  hall  again. 
As  he  disappeared,  the  door  opened,  and  the  face  of  Fanny  was 
seen  carefully  watching  the  enemy's  retreat.  Then  the  young 
girl  turned  to  Redbud,  and,  clapping  her  hands,  cried : 

"  Did  you  ever  ! — what  an  impudent  fellow  !  But  you  pro 
mised,  Reddy  !  Come,  let  me  fix  your  hair !" 

Redbud  sighed,  and  assented. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

IN  WHICH  REDBUD  SUPPRESSES  HER  FEELINGS  AND  BEHAVES 
WITH  DECORUM. 

IN  ten  minutes,  as  she  promised,  Fanny  descended  with  Red- 
bud, — her  arm  laced  around  the  slender  waist  of  that  young 
lady,  as  is  the  wont  with  damsels, — and  ready  to  give  battle  to 
our  friend  Yerty,  upon  any  additional  provocation,  with  even 
greater  zest  than  before. 

Redbud  presented  a  singular  contrast  to  her  companion. 
Fanny,  smiling,  and  full  of  glee,  seemed  only  to  have  become 
merrier  and  brighter  for  her  "cry" — like  an  April  landscape 
after  a  rain.  Redbud,  on  the  contrary,  was  still  sad,  and  op 
pressed  from  the  events  of  the  morning ;  and,  indeed,  could 
scarcely  return  Verty's  greeting  without  emotion. 

Resplendent  in  his  elegant  plum-colored  coat — with  stockings, 
long  embroidered  waistcoat,  and  scarlet  ribbon  tied  around  his 
powdered  hair,  Verty  came  forward  to  meet  his  innamorata,  as 
joyous  and  careless  as  ever,  and,  figuratively  speaking,  with  open 
arms. 

What  was  his  surprise  to  find  that  no  smile  replied  to  his  own. 
Redbud's  face  was  calm — almost  cold ;  she  repelled  him  even 
when  he  held  out  his  hand,  and  only  gave  him  the  tips  of  her 
fingers,  which,  for  any  warmth  or  motion  in  them,  might  have 
been  wood  or  marble. 

Poor  Verty  drew  back,  and  colored.  Redbud  change  toward 
him  ! — no  longer  care  for  him !  What  could  this  frigid  manner 


120  REDBUD. 

with  which  she  met  him,  mean  ; — why  this  cool  and  distant  bow, 
in  reply  to  his  enthusiastic  greeting  ? 

Poor  Verty  sat  down  disconsolately,  gazing  at  Redbud.  He 
could  not  understand.  Then  his  glance  questioned  Miss  Fanny, 
who  sat  with  a  prim  and  demure  affectation  of  stateliness,  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  room.  There  was  no  explanation  here 
either. 

While  Verty  was  thus  gazing  silently,  and  with  growing  em 
barrassment,  at  the  two  young  girls,  Redbud,  with  a  beating 
heart,  and  trembling  lips,  played  with  the  tassel  of  the  sofa-cush 
ion,  and  studied  the  figure  of  the  carpet. 

Fanny  came  to  the  rescue  of  the  expiring  conversation,  and 
seizing  forcibly  upon  the  topic  of  the  weather,  inserted  that  use 
ful  wedge  into  the  rapidly  closing  crack,  and  waited  for  Verty  to 
strike  the  first  blow. 

Unfortunately,  Verty  did  not  hear  her;  he  was  gazing  at 
Redbud. 

Fanny  pouted,  and  tossed  her  head.  So  she  was  not  good 
enough  for  the  elegant  Mr.  Verty  ! — she  was  not  even  worth  a 
reply !  He  might  talk  himself,  then  ! 

Verty  did  not  embrace  this  tacit  permission — he  remained 
silent ;  and  gazing  on  Redbud,  whose  color  began  slowly  to  rise, 
as  Avith  heaving  bosom  and  down-cast  eyes  she  felt  the  young 
man's  look — he  experienced  more  and  more  embarrassment — a 
sentiment  which  began  to  give  way  to  distress. 

At  last  he  rose,  and  going  to  her  side,  took  her  hand. 

Redbud  slowly  drew  it  away,  still  without  meeting  his  gaze. 

He  asked,  in  a  low  voice,  if  she  was  angry  with  him. 

No — she  was  not  very  well  to-day ;  that  was  all. 

And  then  the  long  lashes  drooped  still  more  with  the  heavy 
drops  which  weighed  them  down ;  the  cheeks  were  covered  with 
a  deeper  crimson ;  the  slender  frame  became  still  more  agitated. 
Oh !  nothing  but  those  words — "  if  you  would  prevent  him  from 
suffering" — could  bear  her  through  this  trying  interview:  they 
were  enough,  however — she  would  be  strong. 


REDBUD.  121 

And  as  she  came  to  this  determination,  Redbud  nearly  sobbed 
—the  full  cup  very  nearly  ran  over  with  its  freight  of  tears. 
With  a  beseeching,  pleading  glance,  she  appealed  to  Fanny  to 
come  to  her  assistance. 

Such  an  appeal  is  never  in  vain ;  the  free-masonry  of  the  sex 
has  no  unworthy  members.  Fanny  forgot  in  a  moment  her 
"  miff"  with  Verty,  when  she  saw  that  for  some  reason  Redbud 
was  very  nearly  ready  to  burst  into  tears,  and  wished  to  have 
the  young  man's  attention  called  away  from  her ;  she  no  longer 
remembered  the  slight  to  herself,  which  had  made  her  toss  her 
head,  and  vow  that  she  would  not  open  her  lips  again ;  she  came 
to  the  rescue,  as  women  always  do,  and  with  the  most  winning 
smile,  demanded  of  Mr.  Verty  whether  he  would  be  so  kind  as 
to  do  her  a  slight  favor  ? 

The  young  man  sighed,  and  moved  his  head  indifferently. 
Fanny  did  not  choose  to  see  the  expression,  and  positively  beam 
ing  with  smiles,  all  directed,  like  a  sheaf  of  arrows,  full  upon 
the  gentleman,  pushed  the  point  of  her  slipper  from  the  skirt  of 
her  dress,  and  said  she  would  be  exceedingly  obliged  to  Mr. 
Verty,  if  he  would  fasten  the  ribbon  which  had  become  loose. 

Of  course,  Verty  had  to  comply.  He  rose,  sighing  more  than 
ever,  and  crossing  the  room,  knelt  down  to  secure  the  rebellious 
ribbon. 

No  sooner  had  he  knelt,  than  Miss  Fanny  made  a  movement 
which  attracted  Redbud' s  attention.  Their  eyes  met,  and  Fanny 
saw  that  her  friend  was  almost  exhausted  with  emotion.  The 
impulsive  girl's  eyes  filled  as  she  looked  at  Redbud ;  with  a  smile, 
however,  and  with  the  rapidity  and  skill  of  young  ladies  at  pub 
lic  schools,  she  spelled  something  upon  her  fingers,  grazing  as  she 
went  through  the  quick  motions,  the  head  of  Verty,  who  was 
bending  over  the  slipper. 

Fanny  had  said,  in  this  sly  way :  "  Say  you  are  sick — indeed 
you  are  ! — you'll  cry  I" 

Verty  rose  just  as  she  finished,  and  Miss  Fanny,  with  negligent 
eases  thanked  him,  and  looked  out  of  the  window. 


122  REDBUD. 

Verty  turned  again  toward  Redbud.  She  was  standing  up — 
one  hand  resting  upon  the  arm  of  the  sofa,  from  which  she  had 
risen,  the  other  placed  upon  her  heart,  as  if  to  still  its  tumultu 
ous  beating. 

Verty's  troubled  glance  fled  to  the  tender,  sorrowful  face,  and 
asked  why  she  had  risen.  .Redbud,  suppressing  her  emotion  by 
a  powerful  effort,  said,  almost r  coldly,  that  she  felt  unwell,  and 
hoped  he  would  let  her  go  up  stairs.  Indeed,  (with  a  trembling 
voice),  she  was — not  well :  he  must  excuse  her ;  if — if — if  he 
would — come  again. 

And  finding  her  voice  failing  her,  poor  Redbud  abruptly  left 
the  room,  and  running  to  her  chamber,  threw  herself  on  the  bed, 
and  burst  into  a  passion  of  tears.. 

She  had  obeyed  Miss  Lavinia. 

Yes !  with  a  throbbing  heart,  eyes  full  of  tears,  a  tenderness 
toward  her  boy-playmate  she  had  never  felt  before,  she  had  pre 
served  her  calmness.  Crying  was  not  wrong  she  hoped — and 
that  was  left  her. 

So  the  child  cried,  and  cried,  until  nature  exhausted  herself, 
and  rested. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

MISS  SALLIANNA  FELL  IN  LOVE  WITH  VERTY. 

VERTY  stood  for  a  moment  gazing  at  the  door  through  which 
Redbud  had  disappeared,  unable  to  speak  or  move.  Astonish 
ment,  compassion,  love,  distress,  by  turns  filled  his  mind ;  and 
standing  there,  on  a  fine  October  morning,  the  young  man,  with 
the  clear  sunshine  streaming  on  him  joyfully,  took  his  first  lesson 
in  human  distress — a  knowledge  which  all  must  acquire  at  some 
period  of  their  lives,  sooner  or  later.  His  mixture  of  emotions 
may  be  easily  explained.  He  was  astonished  at  the  extraordi 
nary  change  in  Redbud' s  whole  demeanor;  he  felt  deep  pity  for 
the  sickness  which  she  had  pleaded  as  an  excuse  for  leaving  him. 
Love  and  distress  clasped  hands  in  his  agitated  heart,  as  he  threw 
a  backward  glance  over  the  short  interview  which  they  had  just 
held — and  all  these  feelings  mingling  together,  and  struggling 
each  for  the  mastery,  made  the  young  man's  bosom  heave,  his 
forehead  cloud  over,  and  his  lips  shake  with  deep,  melancholy 
sighs. 

Utterly  unable  to  explain  the  coldness  which  Redbud  had  un 
doubtedly  exhibited,  he  could  only  suffer  in  silence. 

Then,  after  some  moments'  thought,  the  idea  occurred  to  him 
that  Miss  Fanny — the  smiling,  obliging,  the  agreeable  Miss 
Fanny — might  clear  up  the  mystery,  so  he  turned  round  toward 
her ;  but  as  he  did  so,  the  young  girl  passed  by  him  with  stately 
dignity,  and  requesting,  in  a  cold  tone,  to  be  excused,  as  she  was 
going  to  attend  to  her  friend,  Miss  Summers,  sailed  out  of  the 
room  and  disappeared. 


124     MISS  SALLIANNA  FALLS  IN  LOVE  WITH  VERTY. 

Verty  looked  after  her  with  deeper  astonishment  than  before. 
Then  everybody  disliked  him — everybody  avoided  him :  no  doubt 
he  had  been  guilty  of  some  terrible  fault  toward  Redbud,  and 
her  friend  knew  it,  and  would  not  stay  in  his  presence. 

What  could  that  fault  be  ?  Not  his  costume — not  the  at 
tempt  he  had  made  to  intrude  upon  her  privacy.  Certainly  Red- 
bud  never  would  have  punished  him  so  cruelly  for  such  trifling 
things  as  these,  conceding  that  they  were  distasteful  to  her. 

What,  then,  could  be  the  meaning  of  all  this  ? 

Just  as  he  asked  himself  the  question  for  the  sixth  time,  there 
appeared  at  the  door  of  the  apartment  no  less  a  personage  than 
Miss  Sallianna,  who,  ambling  into  the  room  with  that  portion  of 
the  head  which  we  have  more  than  once  mentioned,  and  the 
lackadaisical  smile  which  was  habitual  with  her,  approached 
Verty,  and  graciously  extended  her  yellow  hand. 

The  young  man  took  the  extended  member,  and  made  a  bow. 
Miss  Sallianna  received  it  with  a  still  more  gracious  smile,  and 
asked  Mr.  Verty  to  be  seated. 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  I  must  go  away,  ma'am,"  he  said,  sadly ;  u  Redbud  has 
quarrelled  with  me,  and  I  cannot  stay.  Oh  !  what  have  I  done 
to  cause  this !" 

And  Verty's  head  sank  upon  his  bosom,  and  his  lips  trembled. 

Miss  Sallianna  gazed  at  him  with  a  curious  smile,  and  after  a 
moment's  silence,  said  : 

"  Suppose  you  sit  down  for  a  minute,  Mr.  Verty,  and  tell  me 
all  about  this — this — highly  intrinsic  occurrence.  You  could 
not  repose  your  sorrows  in  a  more  sympathetic  bosom  than  my 
own." 

And  subsiding  gracefully  upon  the  sofa,  Miss  Sallianna  made 
Verty  sit  by  her,  and  even  gently  moved  her  fan  before  his  face, 
smiling  and  simpering. 

Perhaps  the  reader  may  feel  some  surprise  at  the  change  in 
Miss  Sallianna' s  demeanor  toward  the  young  man,  the  fact  of 


MISS  SALLIANNA  FALLS  IN  LOVE   WITH  VERTY.     125 

whose  existence  she  had  scarcely  noticed  on  the  occasion  of  their 
first  meeting  in  the  garden.  The  explanation  will  be  neither 
lengthy  nor  difficult.  Miss  Sallianna  was  one  of  those  ladies 
who  have  so  profound  an  admiration  for  nature,  beauty,  love, 
and  everything  elevated  and  ennobling,  that  they  are  fond  of  dis 
cussing  these  topics  with  the  opposite  sex — exchanging  ideas,  and 
comparing  opinions,  no  doubt  for  the  purpose  of  arriving  at  sound 
conclusions  upon  these  interesting  subjects.  If,  in  the  course  of 
these  conversations,  the  general  discussion  became  particular  and 
personal — if,  in  a  word,  the  gentleman  was  induced  to  regard  the 
lady  as  an  example  of  the  beauties  they  were  talking  about,  in 
nature,  love,  etc.,  Miss  Sallianna  did  not  complain,  and  even 
seemed  somewhat  pleased  thereof.  Of  course  there  would  have 
been  no  profit  or  entertainment  in  discussing  these  recondite 
subjects  with  a  savage  such  as  Verty  had  appeared  to  be  upon 
their  former  interview,  when,  with  his  long,  tangled  hair,  hunter's 
garb,  and  old  slouched  hat,  he  resembled  an  inhabitant  of  the 
backwoods — what  could  such  a  personage  know  of  divine  phi 
losophy,  or  what  pleasure  could  a  lady  take  in  his  society  ? — no 
pleasure,  evidently.  But  now  that  was  all  changed.  The  young 
gentleman  now  presented  a  civilized  appearance  ;  he  was  plainly 
becoming  more  cultivated,  and  his  education,  Miss  Sallianna 
argued,  should  not  be  neglected  by  his  lady  acquaintances.  Who 
wonders  at  such  reasoning  ?  Is  this  the  only  instance  which  has 
ever  been  known  ?  Do  sentimental  ladies  of  an  uncertain  age 
always  refuse  to  take  charge  of  the  growing  hearts  of  innocent  and 
handsome  youths,  just  becoming  initiated  in  the  mysteries  of  the 
tender  passion  ?  Or  do  they  not  most  willingly  assume  the 
onerous  duty  of  directing  the  naive  instincts  of  such  youthful 
cavaliers  into  proper  channels  and  toward  worthy  objects — even 
occasionally,  from  their  elevated  regard,  present  themselves  as 
the  said  "  worthy  objects"  for  the  youthful  affection  ?  Queenly 
and  most  lovely  dames  of  uncertain  age,  and  tender  instincts,  it 
is  not  the  present  chronicler  who  will  so  far  forget  his  reputation 


126     MISS  SALLIANNA  FALLS  IN  LOVE  WITH  VEETY. 

for  gallantry,  as  to  assert  that  "I  should  like  to  marry"  is  your 
favorite  madrigal. 

to?:  Therefore  let  it  be  distinctly  understood  and  remembered,  as  a 
thing  necessary  and  indispensable  to  the  true  comprehension  of 
this  veracious  history,  that  the  beautiful  Miss  Sallianna  was  not 
attracted  by  Verty's  handsome  dress,  his  fashionable  coat,  resetted 
shoes,  well  powdered  hair,  or  embroidered  waistcoat  gently  rub 
bing  against  the  spotless  frill — that  these  things  did  not  enter  into 
her  mind  when  she  resolved  to  attach  the  young  man  to  her  suit, 
and  turn  his  affection  and  "  esteem"  toward  herself.  By  no 
means  ; — she  saw  in  him  only  a  handsome  young  fellow,  whose 
education  could  not  prosper  under  the  supervision  of  such  a  mere 
child  as  Redbud  ;  and  thus  she  found  herself  called  upon  to 
superintend  it  in  her  proper  person,  and  for  that  purpose  now 
designed  to  commence  initiating  the  youthful  cavalier  into  the 
science  of  the  heart  without  delay. 

These  few  words  may  probably  serve  to  explain  the  unusual 
favor  with  which  Miss  Sallianna  seemed  to  regard  Verty — the 
empressement  with  which  she  gently  fanned  his  agitated  brow — 
the  fascinating  smile  which  she  threw  upon  him,  a  smile  which 
seemed  to  say,  "  Come  !  confide  your  sorrows  to  a  sympathizing 
heart." 

Verty,  preoccupied  with  his  sad  reflections,  for  some  moments 
remained  silent.  Miss  Sallianna  broke  the  pause  by  saying — 

"  You  seem  to  be  annoyed  by  something,  Mr.  Verty.  Need 
I  repeat  that  in  me  you  will  find  a  friend  of  philosophic  par 
tiality  and  undue  influence  to  repose  your  confidential  secrets 
in?" 

Verty  sighed. 

"  Oh  !  that  is  a  bad  sign,"  said  the  lady,  simpering. 

"  What,  ma'am?"  asked  Verty,  raising  his  head. 

"  That  sigh." 

"  I  don't  feel  very  well." 

"  In  the  body  or  the  mind  ?"        < 


MISS  SALLIANNA  FALLS   IN  LOVE  WITH  VEKTY.     127 

"  I  suppose  it's  the  mind,  ma'am." 

"  Don't  call  me  ma'am — I  am  not  so  much  your  senior. 
True,  the  various  experiences  I  have  extracted  from  the  circum 
ambient  universe  render  me  somewhat  more  thoughtful,  but  my 
heart  is  very  young,"  said  Miss  Sallianna,  simpering,  and  slaying 
Verty  with  her  eyes. 

"  Yes,  ma'am — I  mean  Miss  Sallianna,"  he  said. 

"jAh  !  that  is  better.  Now  let  us  converse  about  nature,  my 
friend—" 

"  If  you  could  tell  me  why  Redbud  has — 

Verty  stopped.  He  had  an  undeveloped  idea  that  the  subject 
of  nature  and  Redbud  might  not  appear  to  have  any  connection 
with  each  other  in  the  mind  of  Miss  Sallianna. 

But  that  lady  smiled. 

"  About  Redbud  ?"  she  asked,  with  a  languishing  glance. 

«  Yes— Miss." 

"  What  of  the  dear  child  ? — have  you  fallen  out  ?  You  men 
must  not  mind  the  follies  of  sucli  children — and  Reddy  is  a  mere 
child.  I  should  not  think  she  could  appreciate  you." 

Verty  was  silent ;  he  did  not  know  exactly  what  appreciate 
meant,  which  may  serve  as  a  further  proof  of  what  we  have 
said  above,  in  relation  to  the  necessity  which  Miss  Sallianna 
felt  she  labored  under,  as  a  tender-hearted  woman,  to  educate 
Verty. 

The  lady  seemed  to  understand  from  her  companion's  counte 
nance,  that  he  did  not  exactly  comprehend  the  signification  of 
her  words;  but  as  this  had  occurred  on  other  occasions,  and 
with  other  persons,  she  felt  no  surprise  at  the  circumstance,  at 
tributing  it,  as  was  natural,  to  her  own  extreme  cultivation  and 
philological  proficiency.  She  therefore  smiled,  and  still  gently 
agitating  the  fan  before  Verty,  repeated  : 

"Have  you  and  Redbud  fallen  out?" 

"  Yes,"  said  the  young  man. 

"  Concerning  what  ?" 


128     MISS  SALLIANNA  FALLS  IN  LOVE   WITH  VERTY. 

"  I  don't  know — I  mean  Redbud  has  quarreled  with  me." 

"  Indeed !" 

Verty  replied  with  a  sigh. 

"  Come !"  said  Miss  Sallianna,  "  make  a  confidant  of  me,  and 
confide  your  feelings  to  a  heart  which  beats  responsive  to  your 
own." 

With  which  words  the  lady  ogled  Verty. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

THE   RESULT. 

VERTY  looked  at  Miss  Sallianna,  and  sighed  more  deeply  than 
he  had  ever  sighed  before.  The  lady's  face  was  full  of  the  ten- 
derest  interest ;  it  seemed  to  say,  that  with  its  possessor  all  se 
crets  were  sacred,  and  that  nothing  but  the  purest  friendship,  and 
a  desire  to  serve  unhappy  personages,  influenced  her. 

Who  wonders,  therefore,  that  Verty  began  to  think  that  it 
would  be  a  vast  relief  to  him  to  have  a  confidant — that  his  in 
experience  needed  advice  and  counsel — that  the  lady  who  now 
offered  to  guide  him  through  the  maze  in  which  he  was  con 
founded  and  lost,  knew  all  about  the  labyrinths,  and  from  the 
close  association  with  the  object  of  his  love,  could  adapt  her 
counsel  to  the  peculiar  circumstances,  better  than  any  one  else  in 
the  wide  world?  Besides,  Verty  was  a  lover,  and  when  did 
lover  yet  fail  to  experience  the  most  vehement  desire  to  pour 
into  the  bosom  of  some  sympathizing  friend — of  either  sex — the 
story  of  his  feelings  and  his  hopes  ?  It  is  no  answer  to  this,  that, 
in  the  present  instance,  the  lover  was  almost  ignorant  of  the  fact, 
that  he  loved,  and  had  no  well-defined  hopes  of  any  description. 
That  is  nothing  to  your  true  Cory  don.  Not  in  the  least.  Will 
he  not  discourse  with  rising  and  kindling  eloquence  upon  every 
thing  connected  with  his  Phillis  ?  Will  not  the  ribbons  on  her 
bodice,  and  the  lace  around  her  neck,  become  the  most  import 
ant  and  delightful  objects  of  discursive  commentary  ? — the  very 
fluttering  rosettes  which  burn  upon  her  little  instep,  and  the 

6 


130  THE   RESULT. 

pearls  which  glitter  in  her  powdered  hair,  be  of  more  interest 
than  the  fall  of  thrones  ?  So  Corydon,  the  lover,  dreams,  and 
dreams — and  if  you  approach  him  in  the  forest-glade,  he  sighs  and 
talks  to  you,  till  evening  reddens  in  the  west,  about  Phillis,  only 
Phillis.  And  as  the  old  Arcady  lives  still,  and  did  at  the*  time 
of  our  history,  so  Corydons  were  ready  to  illustrate  it,  and  our 
young  friend  Verty  felt  the  old  pastoral  desire  to  talk  about  his 
shepherdess,  and  embrace  Miss  Sallianna's  invitation  to  confide 
his  sorrows  to  her  respective  bosom. 

"  Come  now,  my  dear  Mr.  Verty,"  repeated  that  lady,  "  tell 
me  what  all  this  means — are  you  in  love,  can  it  be — not  with 
Keddy  «" 

"  Yes,  ma'am,  I  believe  I  am,"  said  Verty,  yielding  to  his 
love.  "  Oh,  I  know  I  am.  I  would  die  for'  her  whenever  she 
wanted  me  to — indeed  I  would." 

"  Hum  !"  said  Miss  Sallianna. 

"  You  know  she  is  so  beautiful  and  good — she's  the  best  and 
dearest  girl  that  ever  lived,  and  I  was  so  happy  before  she  treated 
me  coldly  this  morning  !  I'll  never  be  happy  any  more  !" 

"  Cannot  you  banish  her  false  image  ?" 

"  False !  she's  as  true  as  the  stars !  Oh,  Redbud  is  not  false ! 
she  is  too  good  and  kind !" 

Miss  Sallianna  shook  her  head. 

"  You  have  too  high  an  opinion  of  the  sex  at  large,  I  fear,  Mr. 
Verty,"  she  said;  "some  of  them  are  very  inconstant;  you  had 
better  not  trust  Redbud." 

"Not  trust  her!" 

"  Be  careful,  I  mean." 

"  How  can  I !"  cried  Verty. 

"  Easily." 

"  Be  careful  ?  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,  Miss  Sallianna ; 
but  T  suppose  what  you  say  is  for  my  good." 

"  Oh  yes,  indeed." 

"But  I   can't  keep  still,  and  watch  and  listen,  and  spy  out 


THE   EESULT.  181 

about  anybody  I  love  so  much  as  Redbud — for  I'm  certain  now 
that  I  love  her.  Oh,  no  !  I  must  trust  her — trust  her  in  every 
thing  !  Why  should  I  not?  I  have  known  her,  Miss  Sallianna, 
for  years,  and  years — we  were  brought  up  together,  and  we  have 
gone  hand  in  hand  through  the  woods,  gathering  flowers,  and 
down  by  the  run  to  play,  and  she  has  showed  me  how  to  read  and 
write,  and  she  gave  me  a  Bible ;  and  everything  which  I  recol 
lect  has  something  in  it  about  Redbud — only  Eedbud — so  beauti 
ful,  and  kind,  and  good.  Oh,  Miss  Sallianna,  how  could  I  be 
careful,  and  watch,  and  think  Eedbud' s  smiles  were  not  here ! 
I  could  not — I  would  rather  die  !" 

And  Verty 's  head  sank  upon  his  hands  which  covered  the  in 
genuous  blushes  of  boyhood  and  first  love.  In  this  advanced  age 
of  the  world,  we  can  pity  and  laugh  at  this  romantic  nonsense — 
let  us  be  thankful. 

Miss  Sallianna  listened  with  great  equanimity  to  this  outburst, 
and  smiling,  and  gently  fanning  Verty,  said,  when  he  had  ceased 
speaking : 

"Don't  agitate  yourself,  my  dear  friend.  I  suspected  this. 
You  misunderstand  my  paternal  counsel  in  suggesting  to  you  a 
suspicionative  exemplification  of  dear  little  Keddy.  Darling 
child !  she  is  very  good ;  but  remember  that  we  cannot  always 
control  our  feelings." 

Verty  raised  his  head,  inquiringly. 

"  You  do  not  understand  ?" 

"  No,  ma'am,"  he  said;  "I  mean,  Miss  — 

"  No  matter — you'll  get  into  the  habit,"  said  the  lady,  with  a 
languishing  smile ;  "  I  meant  to  observe,  my  dear  friend,  that 
Reddy  might  be  very  good,  and  I  suppose  she  is — and  she  might 
have  had  a  great  and  instructive  affection  for  you  at  one  period ; 
but  you  know  we  cannot  control  our  sentiments,  and  Reddy  has 
probably  fancied  herself  in  love  with  somebody  else." 

Verty  started,  and  half  rose. 

"In  love  with  somebody  else?"  he  cried. 


132  THE   RESULT. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  lady,  smiling. 

"  Oh,  no,  no  !"  murmured  the  young  man,  falling  again  into 
his  seat. 

Miss  Sallianna  nodded. 

"  Mind  now — I  do  not  assert  it,"  she  said  ;  "I  only  say  that 
these  children — I  mean  young  girls  at  Reddy's  age — are  very  apt 
to  take  fancies ;  and  then  they  get  tired  of  the  youths  they  have 
known  well,  and  will  hardly  speak  to  them.  Human  nature  is  of 
derisive  and  touching  interest,  Mr.  Verty,"  sighed  the  lady, 
"  you  must  not  expect  to  find  Reddy  an  exception.  She  is  not 
perfect." 

"  Oh  yes,  she  is  !"  murmured  poor  Verty,  thinking  of  Redbud's 
dreadful  change,  and  yet  battling  for  her  to  the  last  with  the 
loyal  extravagance  of  a  true  lover ;  "  she  would  not — she  could 
not — deceive  me." 

"  I  do  not  say  she  would." 

"  But—" 

"  I  know  what  you  are  about  to  observe,  sir ;  but,  remember 
that  the  heart  is  not  in  our  power  entirely" — here  Miss  Sallianna 
sighed,  and  threw  a  languishing  glance  upon  Verty.  "  No  doubt 
Roddy  loved  you ;  indeed,  at  the  risk  of  deeming  to  flatter  you, 
Mr.  Verty — though  I  never  flatter — I  must  say,  that  it  would 
have  been  very  extraordinary  if  Reddy  had  not  fallen  in  love  with 
you,  as  you  are  so  smart  and  handsome.  Recollect  this  is  not 
flattery.  I  was  going  on  to  say,  that  Reddy  must  have  loved 
you,  but  that  does  not  show  that  she  loves  you  now.  We  can 
not  compress  bur  sentiments;  and  Diana,  Mr.  Verty,  the  god  of 
love,  throws  his  darts  when  we  are  not  looking — ah  !" 

"Which  last  word  of  Miss  Sallianna' s  speech  represents  a  sigh 
she  uttered,  as,  after  the  manner  of  Diana,  she  darted  a  fatal 
arrow  from  her  eyes,  at  Verty.  It  did  not  slay  him,  however, 
and  he  only  murmured  wofully, 

"  Do  you  mean  Reddy  has  changed,  then,  ma'am  ?  Oh,  what 
will  become  of  ine — what  shall  I  do !" 


THE  RESULT.  133 

Miss  Sallianna  threw  a  glance,  so  much  more  languish 
ing  than  the  former,  upon  her  companion,  that  had  his  heart 
not  been  wrapped  in  Redbud,  it  certainly  would  have  been 
pierced. 

"  Follow  her  example,"  simpered  Miss  Sallianna,  looking  down 
with  blushing  cheeks,  and  picking  at  her  fan  with  an  air  of  girl 
ish  innocence.  "  Could  you  not  do  as  she  has  done — and — 
choose — another  object  yourself?" 

And  Miss  Sallianna  raised  her  eyes,  bashfully,  to  Yerty's  face, 
then  cast  them  with  maidenly  modesty  upon  the  carpet. 

"  No,  ma'am,"  said  Verty,  thoughtfully,  and  quite  ignorant  of 
the  deadly  attack  designed  by  the  fair  lady  upon  his  heart — "  I 
don't  think  I  could  change." 

In  these  simple  words  the  honest  Yerty  answered  all. 

"Why  not?"  simpered  the  lady. 

"  Because  I  don't  think  Redbud  is  in  love  with  anybody  else," 
he  said  ;  "  I  know  she  is  not !" 

"Why,  then,  has  she  treated  you  so  badly*?"  said  Miss 
Sallianna,  gradually  forgetting  her  bashfulness,  and  reassuming 
her  languishing  air  and  manner — "  there  must  be  some  laborious 
circumstance,  Mr.  Yerty." 

Yerty  pressed  his  head  with  his  hand,  and  was  silent.  All 
at  once  a  brighter  light  illumined  the  fair  lady's  face,  and  she 
addressed  herself  to  speak,  first  uttering  a  modest  cough — 

"  Suppose  I  suggest  a  plan  of  finding  out,  sir,"  she  said ;  "  we 
might  find  easily." 

"Oh,  ma'am!  how?" 

"  Will  you  follow  my  advice  ?" 

"  Yes,  ma'am — of  course.  I  mean  if  it's  right.  Excuse  me, 
I  did  not  mean — what  was  your  advice,  ma'am  ?"  stammered 
Verty. 

The  lady  smiled,  and  did  not  seem  at  all  offended  at  Yerty's 
qualification. 

"  It  may  appear  singular  to  you  at  first,"  Miss  Sallianna  said ; 


134:  THE   RESULT. 

"  but  my  advice  is,  that  you  appear  to  make  love — to  pay  atten 
tions  to — somebody  else  for  a  short  time." 

"  Attentions,  ma'am  ?" 

"  Seem  to  like  some  other  lady  better  than  Redbud." 
s    "  Oh,  but  that  would  not  be  right." 

"Why?" 

"  Because  I  don't. 

Miss  Sallianna  smiled. 

"I  don't  want  you  to  change  at  all,  Mr.  Verty,"  she  said; 
"  only  to  take  this  modus  addendi,  which  is  the  Greek  for  way, — 
to  take  this  way  to  find  out.  I  would  not  advise  it,  of  course,  if 
it  was  wrong,  and  it  is  the  best  thing  you  could  do,  indeed." 

Verty  strongly  combated  this  plan,  but  was  met  at  every 
turn,  by  Miss  Sallianna,  with  ready  logic ;  and  the  result,  as  is 
almost  always  the  case  when  men  have  the  temerity  to  argue 
with  ladies,  was  a  total  defeat.  Verty  was  convinced,  or  talked 
obtuse  upon  the  subject,  and  with  many  misgivings,  acquiesced  in 
Miss  Sallianna' s  plan. 

That  lady  then  went  on  in  a  sly  and  careful  manner — possi 
bly  diplomatic  would  be  the  polite  word — to  suggest  herself  as 
the  most  proper  object  of  Verty's  experiment.  He  might  make 
love  to  her  if  he  wished — she  would  not  be  offended.  He 
might  even  kiss  her  hand,  and  kneel  to  her,  and  perform  any 
other  gallant  ceremony  he  fancied — she  would  make  allowances, 
and  not  become  angry  if  he  even  proceeded  so  far  as  to  write 
her  billet-doux,  and  ask  her  hand  in  a  matrimonial  point  of 
view.  Miss  Sallianna  wound  up  by  saying,  that  it  would  be 
an  affair  of  rare  and  opprobrious  interest ;  and,  as  a  comedy, 
would  be  positively  deleterious,  which  was  probably  a  lapsus  lin- 
guce  for  "  delicious." 

So  when  Verty  rose  to  take  his  departure,  he  was  a  captive 
to  Miss  Sallianna' s  bow  and  spear;  or  more  accurately,  to  her 
fan  and  tongue :  and  had  promised  to  come  on  the  very  next 
day,  after  school  hours,  and  commence  the  amusing  trial  of 


THE  RESULT.  ^  135 

Reddy's  affections.  The  lady  tapped  him  with  her  fan,  smiled 
languidly,  and  rolled  up  her  eyes — Verty  bowed,  and  took  his 
leave  of  her. 

He  mounted  Cloud,  and  calling  Longears,  took  his  way 
sadly  toward  town.  Could  he  not  look  back  and  see  those 
tender  eyes  following  him  from  the  lattice  of  Redbud's  room — 
and  blessing  him  ? 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

OF  THE  EFFECT  OF  VERTY's  VIOLIN-PLAYING  UPON  MR.  RUSIITON. 

THE  young  man  had  just  reached  the  foot  of  the  hill,  upon 
which  the  Bower  of  Nature  stood — have  we  not  mentioned  be 
fore  the  name  which  Miss  Sallianna  had  bestowed  upon  the 
seminary  ? — when  he  heard  himself  accosted  by  a  laughing 
and  careless  voice,  and  raised  his  head,  to  see  from  whom  it 
proceeded. 

The  voice,  apparently,  issued  from  a  gentleman  who  had  drawn 
rein  in  the  middle  of  the  road,  and  was  gazing  at  him  with  great 
good  humor  and  freedom.  Verty  returned  this  gaze,  and  the 
result  of  his  inspection  was,  that  the  new-comer  was  a  total 
stranger  to  him.  He  was  a  young  man  of  about  nineteen,  with 
handsome  features,  characterized  by  an  expression  of  noncha 
lance  and  careless  good  humor  ;  clad  in  a  very  rich  dress,  some 
what  foppish,  but  of  irreproachable  taste  ;  and  the  horse  he  be 
strode  was  an  animal  as  elegant  in  figure  and  appointments  as 
his  master. 

"Hallo,  friend!"  the  new-comer  had  said,  "give  you  good- 
day." 

Verty  nodded. 

"You  don't  recognize  me,"  said  the  young  man. 

"  I  believe  not,"  replied  Verty. 

"  Well,  that's  all  right ;  and  it  would  be  strange  if  you  did," 
the  young  man  went  on  in  his  careless  voice  ;  "  we  have  never 
met,  I  think,  and,  faith !  all  I  recognize  about  you  is  my  coat." 


VERTY  PLAYS  ON    A  VIOLIN.  137 

"  Your  coat  ?" 

"  Coat,  did  I  say  t — worse  than  that !  I  recognize  my  knee- 
breeches,  my  stockings,  my  chapeau,  my  waistcoat !" 

And  the  new-comer  burst  into  a  careless  laugh. 

Verty  shook  his  head. 

"  They  are  mine,  sir,"  he  said. 

"  You  are  mistaken." 

Verty  returned  the  careless  glance  with  one  which  seemed  to 
indicate  that  he  was  not  very  well  pleased. 

"  How  ?"  he  said. 

"  I  maintain  that  you  are  wearing  my  clothes,  by  Jove  !  Come, 
let  us  fight  it  out ; — or  no  !  I've  got  an  engagement,  my  dear 
fellow,  and  we  must  put  it  off.  Fanny  is  waiting  for  me,  and 
would  be  dying  with  disappointment  if  I  did'nt  come." 

With  which  the  young  fellow  touched  his  horse,  and  com 
menced  humming  a  song. 

"  Fanny  ?"  said  Verty,  with  a  sad  smile,  "  what !  up  at  old 
Seowley's?" 

"  The  very  place !  Why,  you  have  caught  the  very  form  of 
words  by  which  I  am  myself  accustomed  to  speak  of  that  respect 
able  matron." 

"  I  know  Miss  Fanny." 

"Do  you?' 

"  Yes." 

"  Stop !"  said  the  young  man,  laughing  with  his  easy  noncha 
lance ;  "  tell  me  if  we  are  rivals." 

"  Anan  ?  said  Verty. 

"  Are  you  in  love  with  her  ?  Honor  bright  now,  my  dear 
fellow?" 

"  No,"  said  Verty,  drawn,  he  did  not  know  how,  toward  the 
laughing  young  man  ;  "  no,  not  with — Miss  Fanny." 

"  Ah,  ah  I — then  with  whom  ?  Not  the  lovely  Sallianna — the 
admirer  of  nature"?  Faith  !  you're  too  good-looking  a  fellow  to 
throw  yourself  away  on  such  a  simpering  old  maid.  By  Jove  ! 

6* 


138  VERTY  PLAYS   ON  A  VIOLIN. 

my  dear  friend,  and  new  acquaintance,  I  like  you !  Let  us  be 
friends.  My  name's  Ralph  Ashley — I'm  Fanny's  cousin.  Come ! 
confidence  for  confidence  ! 

Verty  smiled. 

"  My  name  is  Verty,"  he  said ;  "  I  havn't  any  other — I'm  an 
Indian." 

"  An  Indian  !" 

"  Yes." 

"Is  it  possible1?" 

Verty  nodded. 

"  Why,  you  are  an  elegant  cavalier,  or  the  devil  take  it !  I'm 
just  from  Williamsburg — from  the  college  there  ;  and  I  never 
saw  a  finer  seigneur  than  yourself,  friend  Verty.  An  Indian  !" 

"  That's  all,"  said  Verty  ;  "  the  new  clothes  change  me.  I 
got  'em  at  O'Brallaghan's." 

"O'Brallaghan's?  The  rascal!  to  sell  my  suit!  That  ac 
counts  for  all !  But  I  don't  complain  of  you.  On  the  contrary, 
I'm  delighted  to  make  your  acquaintance.  Have  you  been  up 
there? — I  suppose  you  have?" 

And  the  young  man  pointed  toward  the  Bower  of  Nature. 

"Yes,"  said  Verty. 

"Visiting?" 

"  Yes— lledbud." 

"  Pretty  little  Miss  Summers?" 

Verty  heaved  a  profound  sigh,  and  said,  "  Yes." 

The  young  man  shook  his  head. 

"  Take  care,  my  dear  fellow,"  he  said,  with  a  wise  air,  "  I  saw 
her  in  town  the  other  morning,  and  I  consider  her  dangerous. 
She  would  not  be  dangerous  to  me ;  I  am  an  old  bird  among  the 
charming  young  damsels  of  this  wicked  world,  and,  consequently, 
not  to  be  caught  by  chaff — such  chaff  as  brilliant  eyes,  and  rosy- 
cheeks,  and  smiles ;  but,  without  being  critical,  my  dear  friend,  I  may 
be  permitted  to  observe,  that  you  look  confiding.  Take  care — it 
is  the  advice  of  a  friend.  Come  and  see  me  at  Bousch's  tavern 


VERTY  PLAYS  ON  A  VIOLIN.  139 

where  I  am  staying,  if  my  visnomy  has  made  a  favorable  impres 
sion Ah !  there's  Fanny !     I  must  fly  to  her — the  charming 

infant." 

And  the  young  man  gave  a  farewell  nod  to  Verty,  and  went 
on  singing,  and  making  signs  to  the  distant  Fanny. 

Verty  gazed  after  him  for  a  moment ;  then  heaving  another  sigh 
much  more  profound  than  any  which  had  yet  issued  from  his  lips, 
went  slowly  on  toward  the  town — his  shoulders  drooping,  his  arms 
hanging  down,  his  eyes  intently  engaged  in  staring  vacancy  out 
of  countenance.  If  we  are  asked  how  it  happened  that  the 
merry,  joyous  Verty,  whose  face  was  before  all  sunshine,  now 
resembled  nobody  so  much  as  some  young  and  handsome  Don 
Quixote,  reflecting  on  the  obduracy  of  his  Toboso  Dulcinea,  we 
can  only  reply,  that  Verty  was  in  love,  and  had  not  prospered 
lately — that  is  to  say,  on  that  particular  day,  in  his  suit ;  and,  in 
consequence,  felt  as  if  the  world  no  longer  held  any  more  joy  or 
light  for  him,  forever. 

With  that  bad  taste  which  characterizes  the  victims  of  this 
delusion,  he  could  not  consent  to  supply  the  place  of  the  chosen 
object  of  his  love  with  any  other  image ;  and  even  regarded  the 
classic  and  romantic  Miss  Sallianna  as  wholly  unworthy  to  sup 
plant  Kedbud  in  his  affections.  Youth  is  proverbially  unreason 
able  and  fastidious  on  these  subjects,  and  Verty,  with  the  true 
folly  of  a  young  man,  could  not  discern  in  Miss  Sallianna  those 
thousand  graces  and  attractions,  linguistic,  philosophical,  histori 
cal  and  scientific,  which  made  her  so  far  superior  to  the  child 
with  whom  he  had  played,  and  committed  the  folly  of  falling  in 
love  with.  So  he  went  along  sighing,  with  his  arms  hanging 
down,  as  we  have  said,  and  his  shoulders  drooping  ;  and  in  tli.:* 
melancholy  guise,  reached  the  office'  of  Judge  Rushton. 

He  found  Mr.  Roundjacket  still  driving  away  with  his  pen, 
only  stopping  at  intervals  to  flourish  his  ruler,  or  to  cast  an 
affectionate  glance  upon  the  MS.  of  his  great  poem,  which, 
gracefully  tied  with  red  tape  arranged  in  a  magnificent  bow,  lay 
by  him  on  the  desk. 


140  VERTY  PLAYS   ON   A  VIOLIN. 

On  Verty's  entrance  the  poet  raised  his  head,  and  looked  at 
him  curiously. 

"Well,  my  fine  fellow,"  he  said,  "what  luck  in  your 
wooing  *?  You  look  as  wo-begone  as  the  individual  who  drew 
Priam's  curtain  at  the  dead  of  night.  Come  !  my  young  savage, 
why  are  you  so  sad  ?" 

Verty  sat  down,  murmuring  something. 

"  Speak  out !"  said  Mr.  Roundjacket,  wiping  his  pen. 

"  I'm  not  very  sad,"  Verty  replied,  looking  perfectly  dis 
consolate — "  what  made  you  think  so,  Mr.  Roundjacket  ?" 

"  Your  physiognomy,  my  young  friend.  Are  you  happy  with 
such  a  face  as  that  f 

"Such  a  facef 

"  Yes  ;  I  tell  you  that  you  look  as  if  you  had  just  parted  with 
all  your  hopes — as  if  some  adverse  fate  had  deprived  you  of  the 
privilege  of  living  in  this  temple  of  Thespis  and  the  muses.  You 
could  not  look  more  doleful  if  I  had  threatened  never  to  read 
any  more  of  my  great  poem  to  you." 

"  Could'ntf '  said  Verty,  listlessly. 

;   "No." 

The  young  man  only  replied  with  a  sigh. 

"  There  it  is — you  are  groaning.  Come  ;  have  you  quarreled 
with  your  mistress  T' 

Verty  colored,  and  his  head  sank. 

"  Please  don't  ask  me,  sir,"  he  said ;  "  I  have  not  been  very 
happy  to-day — everything  has  gone  wrong.  I  had  better  get  to 
my  work,  sir, — I  may  forget  it."- 

And  with  a  look  of  profound  discouragement,  which  seemed 
to  be  reflected  in  the  sympathizing  face  of  Longears,  who  had 
stretched  himself  at  his  master's  feet  and  now  lay  gazing  at  him, 
Verty  opened  the  record  he  had  been  copying,  and  began  to  write. 

Eoundjacket  looked  at  him  for  a  moment  in  silence,  and  then, 
with  an  expression  of  affection  and  pity,  which  made  his  grotesque 
face  absolutely  handsome,  muttered  something  to  himself,  and 
followed  Verty's  example. 


VERTY  PLAYS   ON  A  VIOLIN.  141 

When  Roundjacket  commenced  writing,  he  did  so  with  the 
regularity  and  accuracy  of  a  machine  which  is  set  in  motion  by 
the  turning  of  a  crank,  and  goes  on  until  it  is  stopped.  This 
was  the  case  on  the  present  occasion,  and  Verty  seemed  as 
earnestly  engaged  in  his  own  particular  task.  But  appearances 
are  deceptive — Indian  nature  will  not  take  the  curb  like  Anglo- 
Saxon — and  a  glance  over  Verty's  shoulders  will  reveal  the 
species  of  occupation  which  he  became  engaged  in  after  finishing 
ten  lines  of  the  law  paper. 

He  was  tracing  with  melancholy  interest  a  picture  upon  the 
sheet  beneath  his  pen  ;  and  this  was  a  lovely  little  design  of  a 
young  girl,  with  smiling  lips,  kind,  tender  eyes,  and  cheeks  which 
were  round  and  beautiful  with  mirth.  With  a  stroke  of  the  pen 
Verty  added  the  waving  hair,  brushed  back  a  la  Pompadour,  the 
foam  of  lace  around  the  neck,  and  the  golden  drop  in  the  little  ear. 
Redbud  looked  at  you  from  the  paper,  with  her  modest  eyes  and 
smiles — and  for  a  moment  Verty  gazed  at  the  creation  of  his 
pencil,  sighing  mournfully. 

Then,  with  a  deeper  sigh  than  before,  he  drew  beneath  this 
another  sketch — the  same  head,  but  very  different.  The  eyes 
now  were  cold  and  half  closed — the  lips  were  close  together,  and 
seemed  almost  disdainful — and  as  the  gentle  bending  forward  in 
the  first  design  was  full  of  pleasant  abandon  and  graceful  kind 
ness,  so  the  head  in  the  present  sketch  had  that  erect  and  frigid 
carriage  which  indicates  displeasure. 

Verty  covered  his  eyes  with  his  hand,  and  leaning  down  upon 
the  desk,  was  silent  and  motionless,  except  that  a  stifled  sigh 
would  at  times  issue  from  his  lips,  a  sad  heaving  of  his  breast  in 
dicate  the  nature  of  his  thoughts. 

Longears  rose,  and  coming  to  his  master,  wagged  his  tail, 
and  asked,  with  his  mute  but  intelligent  glance,  what  had  hap 
pened. 

Verty  felt  the  dog  lick  his  hand,  and  rose  from  his  recumbent 
posture. 


142  VERTY  PLAYS  ON  A  VIOLIN. 

"  Yes,  yes,  Longears,"  he  murmured,  "  I  can't  help  showing  it 
— even  you  know  that  I  am  not  happy." 

And  with  listless  hands  he  took  up  the  old  violin  which  lay 
upon  his  desk  and  touched  the  strings.  The  sound  died  away  in 
trembling  waves — Roundjacket  continued  writing. 

Verty,  without  appearing  to  be  conscious  of  what  he  was 
doing,  took  the  bow  of  the  violin,  and  placing  the  instrument 
upon  his  shoulder,  leaned  his  ear  down  to  it,  and  drew  the  hair 
over  the  strings.  A  long,  sad  monotone  floated  through  the 
room. 

Koundjacket  wrote  on. 

Verty,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  vacancy,  his  lips  sorrowfully 
listless,  his  frame  drooping  more  and  more,  began  to  play  a  low, 
sad  air,  which  sounded  like  a  sigh. 

Koundjacket  raised  his  head,  and  looked  at  the  musician. 

Verty  leaned  more  and  more  upon  his  instrument,  listening 
to  it  as  to  some  one  speaking  to  him,  his  eyes  closed,  his 
bosom  heaving,  his  under  lip  compressed  sorrowfully  as  he 
dreamed. 

lioundjacket  was  just  about  to  call  upon  Verty  to  cease  his 
savage  and  outrageous  conduct,  or  Mr.  Kushton,  who  was  in  the 
other  room,  would  soon  issue  forth  and  revenge  such  a  dreadful 
violation  of  law  office  propriety,  when  the  door  of  that  gentle 
man's  sanctum  opened,  and  he  appeared  upon  the  threshold. 

But  far  from  bearing  any  resemblance  to  the  picture  of  the 
poet's  imagination — instead  of  standing  mute  with  rage,  and 
annihilating  the  musician  with  a  horrible  scowl  from  beneath  his 
shaggy  and  frowning  brows,  Mr.  Rushton  presented  a  perfect 
picture  of  softness  and  emotion.  His  head  bending  forward,  his 
eyes  half  closed  and  filled  with  an  imperceptible  mist,  his  whole 
manner  quiet,  and  sad,  and  subdued,  he  seemed  to  hang  upon  the 
long-drawn  sighing  of  the  violin,  and  take  a  mournful  pleasure 
in  its  utterances. 

Verty' s  hand  passed   more  and  more   slowly  backward  and 


VERTY  PLAYS  ON  A  VIOLIN.  143 

forward — the  music  became  still  more  affecting,  and  passing 
from  tlioughtfulness  to  sadness,  and  from  sadness  to  passionate 
regret,  it  died  away  in  a  wail. 

He  felt  a  hand  upon  his  shoulder,  and  turned  round.  Mr. 
Rushton,  with  moist  eyes  and  trembling  lips,  was  gazing  at  him. 

"  Do  not  play  that  any  more,  young  man,"  he  said,  in  a  low 
tone,  "  it  distresses  me." 

"  Distresses  you,  sir  ?"  said  Verty. 

"Yes." 

"  What  ?     <  Lullaby  ?'  " 

"Yes,"  muttered  the  lawyer. 

Verty' s  sad  eyes  inquired  the  meaning  of  so  singular  a  fact, 
but  Mr.  Rushton  did  not  indulge  this  curiosity. 

"  Enough,"  he  said,  with  more  calmness,  as  he  turned  away, 
"  it  is  not  proper  for  you  to  play  the  violin  here  in  business  hours ; 
but  above  all,  never  again  play  that  music — I  cannot  endure  the 
memories  it  arouses — enough." 

And  retiring  slowly,  Mr.  Rushton  disappeared,  closing  the  door 
of  his  room  behind  him. 

Verty  followed  him  with  his  eyes  until  he  was  no  longer  visi 
ble,  then  turned  toward  Mr.  Roundjacket  for  an  explanation. 
That  gentleman  seemed  to  understand  this  mute  interrogation, 
but  only  shook  his  head. 

Therefore  Verty  returned  to  his  work,  sadly  laying  aside  the 
two  sketches  of  Redbud,  and  selecting  another  sheet  to  copy  the 
record  upon.  By  the  time  he  had  finished  one  page,  Mr.  Round- 
jacket  rose  from  his  desk,  stretched  himself,  and  announced  that 
office  hours  were  over,  and  he  would  seek  his  surburban  cottage, 
where  this  gentleman  lived  in  bachelor  misery.  Verty  said  he 
was  tired,  too ;  and  before  long  had  told  Mr.  Roundjacket  good 
bye,  and  mounted  Cloud. 

With  Longears  at  his  side,  soberly  walking  in  imitation  of  the 
horse,  Verty  went  along  toward  his  home  in  the  hills,  gazing 
upon  the  golden  west,  and  thinking  still  of  Redbud. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

A  YOUNG  GENTLEMAN,  JUST  FROM  WILLIAM  AND  MARY  COLLEGE. 

INSTEAD  of  following  Verty,  who,  like  most  lovers,  is  very  far 
from  being  an  amusing  personage,  let  us  go  back  and  accompany 
Mr.  Ralph  Ashley,  on  his  way  to  the  Bower  of  Nature,  where 
our  young  friend  Fanny  awaits  him ;  and  if  these  scenes  and 
characters  also  fail  to  entertain  us,  we  may  at  least  be  sure  that 
they  are  from  the  book  of  human  nature — a  volume  whose 
lightest  chapters  and  most  frivolous  illustrations  are  not  beneath 
the  attention  of  the  wisest.  If  this  were  not  true,  the  present 
chronicler  would  never  be  guilty  of  the  folly  of  expending  his 
time  and  ink  upon  such  details  as  go  to  make  up  this  true  his 
tory  ;  it  would  be  lost  labor,  were  not  the  flower  and  the  blade 
of  grass,  the  very  thistle  down  upon  the  breeze,  each  and  all,  as 
wonderful  as  the  grand  forests  of  the  splendid  tropics.  What 
character  or  human  deed  is  too  small  or  trivial  for  study? 
Never  did  a  great  writer  utter  truer  philosophy  than  when  he 
said: 

"  Say  not  '  a  small  event !'     Why  '  small  r 
Costs  it  more  pains  than  this,  ye  call 
A  '  great  event,'  shall  come  to  pass, 
Than  that  1     Untwine  me  from  the  mass 
Of  deeds  which  make  up  life,  one  deed 
Power  shall  fall  short  in,  or  exceed  !" 

And  now  after  this  philosophical  dissertation  upon  human  life 
and  actions,  we  may  proceed  to  narrate  the  visit  of  Mr.  Ralph 


A  YOUNG  GENTLEMAN  FKOM  COLLEGE.      145 

Ashley,  graduate  of  Williamsburg,  and  cousin  of  Miss  Fanny,  to 
the  Bower  of  Nature,  and  its  inmates. 

Fanny  was  at  the  door  when  he  dismounted,  and  awaited  the 
young  gentleman  with  some  blushes,  and  a  large  amount  of 
laughter. 

This  laughter  was  probably  directed  toward  the  somewhat 
dandified  costume  of  the  young  gentleman,  and  he  was  not  long 
left  in  the  dark  upon  this  point. 

"  How  d'ye  do,  my  dearest  Fanny,'*  said  Mr.  Ralph  Ashley, 
hastening  forward,  and  holding  out  his  arms;  "let  us  em 
brace  !" 

"  Humph  !"  said  Fanny  ;  "  indeed  you  shan't !" 

"  Shan't  what— kiss  you  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir :  you  shall  do  nothing  of  the  sort !" 

"  Wrong  !— here  goes  !" 

And  before  Miss  Fanny  could  make  her  retreat,  Ralph  Ashley, 
Esq.,  caught  that  young  lady  in  his  arms,  and  impressed  a  salute 
upon  her  lips,  so  remarkably  enthusiastic,  that  it  resembled  the 
discharge  of  a  pistol.  Perhaps  we  are  wrong  in  saying  that  it  was 
imprinted  on  his  cousin's  lips,  inasmuch  as  Miss  Fanny,  though 
incapacitated  from  releasing  herself,  could  still  turn  her  head,  and 
she  always  maintained  that  nothing  but  her  cheek  suffered.  On 
this  point  we  cannot  be  sure,  and  therefore  leave  the  question 
undecided. 

Of  one  fact,  however,  there  can  be  no  doubt — namely,  that 
Mr.  Ralph  Ashley  received,  almost  immediately,  a  vigorous  sa 
lute  of  another  description  upon  the  cheek,  from  Miss  Fanny's 
open  hand — a  salute  which  caused  his  face  to  assume  the  most 
girlish  bloom,  and  his  eyes  to  suddenly  fill  with  tears. 

"By  Jove!  you've  got  an  arm!"  said  the  cavalier,  admir 
ingly.  "  Come,  my  charming  child — why  did  you  treat  me  so 
cruelly  ?" 

"  Why  did  you  kiss  me  ?     Impudence  !" 

"That's  just   what  young   ladies   always   say,"  replied   her 


146      A  YOUNG  GENTLEMAN  FROM  COLLEGE. 

cavalier,  philosophically ;  "  whatever  they  like,  they  are  sure  to 
call  impudent." 

"  Like  r 

"  Yes,  "like  !  Do  you  pretend  to  say  that  you  are  not  compli 
mented  by  a  salute  from  such  an  elegant  gentleman  as  myself!" 

"  Oh,  of  course !"  said  Miss  Fanny,  satirically. 

"  Then  the  element  of  natural  affection — of  consanguinity — 
has  its  due  weight  no  doubt,  my  dearest.  I  am  your  cousin." 

"  What  of  that,  man  ?" 

"  Everything !  Don't  you  know  that  in  this  reputable  pro 
vince,  called  Virginia,  blood  goes  a  great  way  I  Cousins  are  in 
variably  favorites." 

"  You  are  very  much  mistaken,  sir,"  said  Fanny. 

"  There  it  is — you  girls  always  deny  it,  and  always  believe 
it,"  said  Mr.  Ralph,  philosophically.  "  Now,  you  would  die  for 
me." 

«  Die,  indeed !" 

"  Would'nt  you  f ' 

"  Fiddlesticks !" 

"  That's  an  impressive  observation,  and  there's  no  doubt  about 
your  meaning,  though  the  original  signification,  the  philological 
origin  of  the  phrase,  is  somewhat  cloudy.  You  won't  expire  for 
ine,  then  t" 

"  No !" 

"  Then  live  for  me,  delight  of  my  existence !"  said  Mr.  Ralph 
Ashley,  with  a  languishing  glance,  and  clasping  his  hands 
romantically  as  he  spoke ;  "  live  for  one,  whose  heart  is  wrapped 
in  thee !" 

Miss  Fanny's  sense  of  the  ludicrous  was  strong,  and  this 
pathetic  appeal  caused  her  to  burst  into  laughter. 

"  More  ridiculous  than  ever,  as  I  live !"  she  cried,  "  though  I 
thought  that  was  impossible." 

"  Did  you  f ' 

"  Yes." 


A  YOUNG  GENTLEMAN  FROM  COLLEGE.      147 

Mr.  Ashley  gently  twined  a  lock  around  his  finger,  and  assum 
ing  a  foppish  air,  replied  : 

"  I  don't  know  whether  you  thought  it  impossible  for  me  to 
become  more  ridiculous;  but  you  can't  help  confessing,  my  own 
Fanny,  that  you  doubted  whether  I  could  grow  more  fasci 
nating." 

Fanny's  lip  curled. 

"  Oh,  yes  !"  she  said. 

"  Come — don't  deny  what  was  perfectly  plain — it  won't  do." 

"Deny— f 

"  That  you  were  desperately  in  love  with  me,  and  that  I  was 
your  sweetheart,  as  the  children  say." 

And  Mr.  Ralph  gently  caressed  the  downy  covering  of  his  chin, 
and  smiled. 

"What  a  conceited  thing  you  are,"  said  Fanny,  laughing ; 
"  you  are  outrageous." 

And  having  uttered  this  opinion,  Miss  Fanny's  eyes  suddenly 
fell,  and  her  merry  cheek  colored.  The  truth  was  simply,  that 
Ralph  had  been  a  frank,  good-humored,  gallant  boy,  and  the 
neighbors  had  said,  that  he  was  Fanny's  "  sweetheart ;"  and  the 
remembrance  of  this  former  imputation  now  embarassed  the 
nearly-grown-up  young  lady.  No  one  could  remain  embarrassed 
in  Mr.  Ralph's  society  long  however ;  there  was  so  much  careless 
ease  in  his  demeanor,  that  it  was  contagious,  and  so  Fanny  in  a 
moment  had  regained  all  her  self-possession,  and  returned  the 
languishing  glances  of  her  admirer  with  her  habitual  expression 
of  satirical  humor. 

"  Yes,  perfectly  outrageous  !"  she  said  ;  "  and  college  has  posi 
tively  ruined  you — you  cannot  deny  it." 

"  Ruined  me  T ' 

"Wholly." 

"  On  the  contrary,  it  has  greatly  improved  me,  my  dearest." 

And  Ralph  sat  down  on  the  trellised  portico,  stretching  out  his 
elegant  resetted  shoes,  and  laughing. 


148      A  YOUNG  GEXTLEMAX  FROM  COLLEGE. 

"I  am  not  your  dearest,"  said  Fanny;  "that  is  not  my 
name."  9 

"  You  are  mistaken  !  But  come,  sit  by  me :  I'm  just  in  the 
mood  to  talk." 

"  No  !  I  don't  think  I  will." 

"  Pray  do." 

"  No,"  said  Fanny,  shaking  her  head  coquettishly,  "  I'll  stand 
while  your  lordship  discourses." 

"  You  positively  shan't !" 

And  with  these  words,  the  young  man  grasped  Miss  Fanny's 
long  streaming  hair-ribbon,  and  gently  drew  it  toward  him, 
laughing. 

Fanny  cried  out.     Kalph  laughed  more  than  ever. 

There  was  but  one  alternative  left  for  the  young  girl.  She 
must  either  see  her  elegantly  bound  up  raven  locks  deprived  of 
their  confining  ribbon,  and  so  fall  in  wild  disorder,  or  she  must  obey 
the  command  of  the  enemy,  and  sit  quietly  beside  him.  True, 
there  was  the  third  course  of  becoming  angry,  and  raising  her  head 
with  dignified  hauteur.  But  this  course  had  its  objections — it 
would  not  do  to  quarrel  with  her  cousin  and  former  playmate 
immediately  upon  his  return  ;  and  again  the  movement  of  the 
head,  which  we  have  indicated,  would  have  been  attended  by 
consequences  exceedingly  disastrous. 

Therefore,  as  Ralph  continued  to  draw  toward  him  gently  the 
scarlet  ribbon,  with  many  smiles  and  admiring  glanc-  -.  Biki 
Fanny  gradually  approached  the  seat,  and  finally  sat  down. 

••  There,  sir  I"  she  said,  pouting,   "  I  hope  you  are  satisfied  !" 

"  Perfectly  ;  the  fact  is,  my  sweet  Fanny,  I  never  was  any 
thing  else  but  satisfied  with  you  !  I  always  was  fascinated  with 
you." 

"That's  one  of  the  things  which  you  were  taucht  at  college,  I 
suppose." 

"What?" 

*•  Making  pretty  speeches." 


A  YOUNG  GENTLEMAN  FROM   COLLEGE.  149 

"  Xo,  they  did'nt  teach  that,  by  Jove  !  Nothing  but  wretched 
Latin,  Greek  and  Mathematics — things,  evidently,  of  far  less  im 
portance  than  the  art  you  mention." 

"Oh!  of  course." 

"And  the  reason  is  plain.  A  gentleman  never  uses  the  one 
after  he  leaves  college,  and  lays  them  by  with  the  crabbed  books 
that  teach  them ;  while  the  art  of  compliment  is  always  useful 
and  agreeable — especially  agreeable  to  young  ladies  of  your  ex 
ceedingly  juvenile  age — is't  not  ?" 

••  Very  agreeable." 

"  I  know  it  is ;  and  when  a  woman  descends  to  it,  and  flatters 
a  man — ah !  my  dear  Fanny,  there's  no  hope  for  him.  I  am  a 
melancholy  instance." 

'•  You  :*'    laughed  Fanny,  who  had  regained  her  good-humor. 

••  Yes  ;  you  know  Williamsburg  has  many  other  things  to  re 
commend  it  besides  the  college." 

-What  things?" 

••Pretty  girls/' 

"Oh!  indeed." 

••  Yes,  and  I  assure  you  I  did  not  neglect  the  opportunity  of 
prosecuting  my  favorite  study — the  female  character.  Don't 
interrupt  me — your  character  is  no  longer  a  study  to  me." 

"  I  am  very  glad,  sir." 

"  I  made  you  out  long  ago — like  the  rest  of  your  sex.  you  are, 
of  course,  very  nearly  angelic,  but  still  have  your  faults." 

*•  Thank  you,  sir." 

"  Ah1  true — but  about  "SVilliamsburg — I  was,  I  say,  a  melan 
choly  sample  of  the  effect  produced  by  a  kind  and  friendly  speech 
from  a  lady.  Observe,  that  the  said  speech  was  perfectly  com 
mon-place,  and  sprung,  I'm  sure,  from  the  speaker's  general  ami 
ability;  and  yet,  what  must  I  do,  but  go  and  fall  in  love  with 
her." 

"  Oh !"  from  Fanny. 

>  M — true  as  truth  itself ;  and,  as  a  consequence,  my  friends, 


150      A  YOUNG  GENTLEMAN  FROM  COLLEGE. 

for  the  first,  and  only  time,  had  a  good  joke  against  me.  They 
had  a  tale  about  my  going  to  his  Excellency,  the  Governor's  pal 
ace,  to  look  at  the  great  map  there — all  for  the  purpose  of  find 
ing  where  the  country  was  in  which  she  lived  ;  for,  observe,  she 
was  only  on  a  visit  to  Williamsburg — of  studying  out  this  boun 
dary,  and  that — this  river  to  cross,  and  that  place  to  stop  at, — 
the  time  it  would  take  to  carry  my  affections  over  them — and  all 
the  thousand  details.  Of  course,  this  was  not  true,  my  darling 
Fanny,  at  least — " 

"  Ralph,  you  shall  stop  talking  to  me  like  a  child !"  exclaimed 
Fanny,  who  had  listened  to  the  details  of  Mr.  Ashley's  passion 
with  more  and  more  constraint ;  "  please  to  remember  that  I  am 
not  a  baby,  sir." 

Ralph  looked  at  the  lovely  face,  with  its  rosy-cheeks  and  flash 
ing  eyes,  and  burst  out  laughing. 

"  There,  you  are  as  angry  as  Cleopatra,  when  the  slave  brought 
her  bad  news — and,  by  Jove,  Fanny,  you  are  twice  as  lovely. 
Really  !  you  have  improved  wonderfully.  Your  eyes,  at  this  mo 
ment,  are  as  brilliant  as  fire — your  lips  like  carnation — and  your 
face  like  sunlit  gold ;  recollect,  I'm  a  poet.  I'm  positively  re 
joiced  at  the  good  luck  which  made  me  bring  such  a  lovely  ex 
pression  into  your  fair  countenance." 

Fanny  turned  her  head  away. 

"  Come  now,  Fanny,"  said  Ralph,  seriously,  "  I  do  believe 
you  are  going  to  find  fault  with'  my  nonsense." 

No  reply. 

Mr.  Ralph  Ashley  heaved  a  sigh ;  and  was  silent. 

"  You  treat  me  like  a  child,"  said  Fanny,  reproachfully ;  "  I 
am  not  a  child." 

"  You  certainly  are  not,  my  dearest  Fanny — you  are  a  charm 
ing  young  lady — the  most  delicious  of  your  sex." 

And  Mr.  Ralph  Ashley  accompanied  these  words  with  a  glance 
so  ludicrously  languishing,  that  Fanny,  unable  to  command  her 
self,  burst  into  laughter ;  and  the  quarrel  was  all  made  up,  if 
quarrel  it  indeed  had  been. 


A  YOUNG  GENTLEMAN  FKOM   COLLEGE.  151 

"  You  were  a  child  in  old  times,"  said  Mr.  Ashley,  throwing 
his  foot  elegantly  over  his  knee ;  "  and,  I  recollect,  had  a  perfect 
genius  for  blindman's-buff;  but,  of  course,  at  sixteen  you  have 
'  put  away '  all  those  infantile  or  '  childish  things ' — though  I  am 
sincerely  rejoiced  to  see  that  you  have  not  'become  a  man.'" 

Fanny  laughed. 

"  I  wish  I  was,"  she  said. 

"What?" 

"  Why  a  man." 

"  Oh !  you're  very  well  as  you  are ; — though  if  you  were  a 
'youth,'  I'm  sure,  Fanny  dear,  I  should  be  desperately  fond  of 
you." 

"Quite  likely." 

"  Oh,  nothing  truer ;  and  everybody  would  say,  '  See  the 
handsome  friends.'  Come  now,  would' nt  we  make  a  lovely 
couple." 

"Lovely!" 

"  Suppose  we  try  it." 

"  Try  what "?" 

"  Being  a  couple." 

Fanny  suddenly  caught,  from  the  laughing  eye,  the  young 
man's  meaning,  and  began  to  color. 

"  I  see  you  understand,  my  own  Fanny,"  observed  Mr.  Kalph, 
"  and  I  expected  nothing  less  from  a  young  lady  of  your  quick 
ness.  What  say  you  ?  It  is  not  necessary  for  me  to  say  that 
I'm  desperately  in  love  with  you." 

"  Oh,  not  at  all  necessary !"  replied  Fanny,  satirically,  but 
with  a  blush. 

"  I  see  you  doubt  it." 

"  Oh,  not  at  all." 

"  Which  means,  as  usual  with  young  ladies,  that  you  don't 
believe  a  word  of  it.  Well,  only  try  me.  What  proof  will  you 
have  f ' 

Fanny  laughed  with  the  same  expression  of  constraint  which 
we  have  before  observed,  and  said  : 


152      A  YOUNG  GENTLEMAN  FROM  COLLEGE. 

"  You  have  not  looked  upon  the  map  of  Virginia  yet  for  my 
'  boundaries  ?' " 

Ralph  received  the  hit  full  in  the  front. 

"  By  Jove  !  Fanny,"  he  exclaimed,  "  I  ought'nt  to  have  told 
you  that." 

"  I'm  glad  you  did." 

«  Why  ?" 

"  Because,  of  course,  I  shall  not  make  any  efforts  to  please  you 
— you  are  already  'engaged  !'  " 

"  Engaged  !  well,  you  are  wrong.  Neither  my  heart  nor  my 
hand  is  engaged.  Ah,  dear  Fanny,  you  don't  know  how  we 
poor  students  carry  away  with  us  to  college  some  consuming 
passion  which  we  feed  and  nurture  ; — how  we  toast  the  Dulci- 
nea  at  oyster  parties,  and,  like  Corydon,  sigh  over  her  miniature. 
I  had  yours !" 

"  My — miniature  ?"  said  the  lively  Fanny,  with  a  roseate 
blush,  "  you  had  nothing  of  the  sort." 

"  Your  likeness,  then." 

"  Equally  untrue — where  is  it  ?" 

"Here!"  said  Mr.  Kalph  Ashley,  laying  his  hand  upon  his 
heart,  and  ogling  Miss  Fanny  with  terrible  expression.  "  Ah, 
Fanny,  darling,  don't  believe  that  story  I  relate  about  myself — 
never  has  any  one  made  any  impression  on  me — for  my  heart — 
my  love — my  thoughts — have  always " 

Suddenly  the  speaker  became  silent,  and  rising  to  his  feet, 
made  a  courteous  and  graceful  bow.  A  young  lady  had  just 
appeared  at  the  door. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

THE    NECKLACE. 

THIS  was  Eedbud. 

The  poor  girl  presented  a  great  contrast  to  the  lively  Fanny, 
who,  with  sparkling  eyes  and  merry  lips,  and  rosy,  sunset  cheeks, 
afforded  an  excellent  idea  of  the  joyous  Maia,  as  she  trips  on 
gathering  her  lovely  flowers.  Poor  Redbud!  Her  head  was 
hanging  down,  her  eyes  wandered  sadly  and  thoughtfully  toward 
the  distant  autumn  horizon,  and  the  tender  lips  wore  that  ex 
pression  of  soft  languor  which  is  so  sad  a  spectacle  in  the  young. 

At  Mr.  Ralph  Ashley's  bow,  she  raised  her  head  quickly ;  and 
her  startled  look  showed  plainly  she  had  not  been  conscious  of 
the  presence  of  Fanny,  or  the  young  man  on  the  portico. 

Redbud  returned  the  profound  bow  of  Fanny's  cavalier  with  a 
delightful  little  curtsey,  and  would  have  retired  into  the  house 
again.  But  this  Miss  Fanny,  for  reasons  best  known  to  herself, 
was  determined  to  prevent — reasons  which  a  close  observer  might 
have  possibly  guessed,  after  looking  at  her  blushing  cheeks  and 
timid,  uneasy  eyes.  For  everybody  knows  that  if  there  is  any 
thing  more  distasteful  and  embarrassing  to  very  young  ladies  than 
a  failure  on  the  part  of  gallants  to  recognise  their  claims  to  atten 
tion,  that  other  more  embarrassing  circumstance  is  a  too  large 
quantum  of  the  pleasing  incense.  It  is  not  the  present  writer, 
however,  who  will  go  so  far  as  to  say  that  their  usual  habit  of 
running  away  from  the  admirer  should  be  taken,  as  in  other 
feminine  manoeuvres,  by  contraries. 

7 


154  THE  NECKLACE. 

So  Fanny  duly  introduced  Mr.  Ralph  Ashley  to  Miss  Red- 
bud  Summers ;  and  then,  with  a  little  masonic  movement  of 
the  head,  added,  with  perfect  ease: 

"  Suppose  we  all  take  a  walk  in  the  garden — it  is  a  very  pretty 
evening." 

This  proposition  was  enthusiastically  seconded  by  Mr.  Ralph 
Ashley,  who  had  regained  his  laughing  ease  again — and  though 
Redbud  would  fain  have  been  excused,  she  was  obliged  to  yield, 
and  so  in  ten  minutes  they  were  promenading  up  and  down  the 
old  garden,  engaged  in  pleasant  conversation — which  conversation 
has,  however,  nothing  to  do  with  this  veracious  history. 

Just  as  they  arrived,  in  one  of  their  perambulatory  excursions 
around  the  walks,  at  a  small  gate  which  opened  on  the  hill-side, 
they  discovered  approaching  them  a  worthy  of  the  pedlar  de 
scription,  who  carried  on  his  broad  German  shoulders  a  large 
pack,  which,  as  the  pedlar  jogged  along,  made  pretences  con 
tinually  of  an  intention  to  dive  forward  over  his  head,  but 
always  without  carrying  this  intention  into  execution.  The 
traveling  merchant  seemed  to  be  at  the  moment  a  victim  to  that 
species  of  low  spirits  which  attacks  all  his  class  when  trade  is 
dull ;  and  no  sooner  had  he  descried  the  youthful  group,  than  his 
face  lighted  up  with  anticipated  business. 

He  came  to  the  gate  at  which  they  stood,  and  ducking  his 
head,  unshing  the  pack,  and  without  further  ceremony  opened  it. 

A  tempting  array  of  stuffs  and  ribbons,  pencils,  pinchbeck 
jewels  and  thimbles,  scissors  and  knives,  immediately  became 
visible ;  with  many  other  things  which  it  is  not  necessary  for  us 
to  specify.  The  pedlar  called  attention  to  them  by  pointing 
admiringly  at  each,  and  recommended  them  by  muttering  broken 
English  over  them. 

With  that  propensity  of  young  ladies  to  handle  and  examine 
all  articles  which  concern  themselves  with  personal  adornment, 
Fanny  and  Redbud,  though  they  really  wanted  nothing,  turned 
over  everything  in  the  pack.  But  little  resulted  therefrom  for 


THE  NECKLACE.  155 

the  pedlar.  He  did  not  succeed  in  persuading  Redbud  to  buy  a 
beautiful  dress  pattern,  with  dahlias  and  hollyhocks,  in  their 
natural  size  and  colors ;  and  was  equally  unsuccessful  with 
Fanny,  who  obstinately  declined  to  reduce  into  her  possession  a 
lovely  lace  cap,  such  as  our  dear  old  grandmamas'  portraits  show 
us — though  this  description  may  be  incorrect,  as  Fanny  always 
said  that  the  article  in  question  was  a  night-cap. 

Disappointed  in  this,  the  pedlar  brought  out  his  minor  "  arti 
cles  ;"  and  here  he  was  more  successful.  Mr.  Ashley  bought 
sufficiently  for  his  young  lady  friends  at  the  seminary,  he  said, 
and  Redbud  and  Fanny  both  purchased  little  things. 

Fanny  bought  the  most  splendid  glass  breastpin,  which  she 
pretended,  with  a  merry  laugh,  to  admire  "  to  distraction."  Red- 
bud,  without  knowing  very  well  why,  bought  a  little  red  coral 
necklace,  which  looked  bright  and  new,  and  rattled  merrily  as 
she  took  it ;  for  some  reason  the  pedlar  parted  with  it  for  a  very 
small  sum,  and  then  somewhat  hastily  packed  up  his  goods,  and 
ducking  his  head  in  thanks,  went  on  his  way. 

"  Look  what  a  very  handsome  breastpin  I  have  !"  said  Fanny, 
as  they  returned  through  the  garden  ;  "I'm  sure  nobody  would 
know  that  it  is  not  a  diamond." 

"  You  are  right,"  said  Mr.  Ashley,  smiling,  "  the  world  is  given 
to  judging  almost  wholly  from  outward  appearances.  And  what 
did  you  purchase,  Miss  Summers — or  Miss  Redbud,  if  you  will 
permit  me — " 

*'  Oh,  yes,  sir,"  said  Redbud,  looking  at  him  with  her  kind, 
sad  eyes,  "  you  need'nt  be  ceremonious  with  me.  Besides,  you're 
Fanny's  cousin.  I  bought  this  necklace — I  thought  it  old- 
fashioned  and  pretty." 

Redbud  was  silent  again,  her  eyes  bent  quietly  upon  the 
walk,  the  long  lashes  reposing  thus  upon  the  tender  little 
cheeks. 

"  Old-fashioned  and  pretty,"  said  the  young  man,  with  a 
smile,  "  did  you  not  make  u  mistake  there,  Miss  Redbud  ?" 


156  THE   NECKLACE. 

"  No,  sir — I  meant  it,"  she  said,  raising  her  eyes  simply  to 
his  own.  "  I  think  old-fashioned  things  are  very  often  prettier 
and  more  pleasant  than  new  ones.  Don't  you?" 

"  I  do !"  cried  Fanny  ;  "  I'm  snre  my  great  grandmother's 
diamond  breastpin  is  much  handsomer  than  this  horrid  thing !" 

And  the  young  lady  tore  the  pinchbeck  jewel  from  ner  neck. 

Mr.  Ashley  laughed. 

"There's  your  consistency,"  he  said;  "  just  now  you  thought 
nothing  could  be  finer." 

Miss  Fanny  vehemently  opposed  this  view  of  her  character  at 
great  length,  and  with  extraordinary  subtilty.  We  regret  that 
the  exigencies  of  our  narrative  render  it  impossible  for  us  to 
follow  her — we  can  only  state  that  the  result,  as  on  all  such 
occasions,  was  the  total  defeat  of  the  cavalier.  Mr.  llalph 
Ashley  several  times  stated  his  willingness  to  subscribe  to  any 
views,  opinions  or  conclusions  which  Miss  Fanny  desired  him  to, 
and  finally  placed  his  fingers  in  his  ears. 

Fanny  greeted  this  manreuvre  with  a  sudden  blow  in  the 
laugher's  face,  from  her  bouquet;  and  Kedbud,  forgetting  her  dis 
quietude,  laughed  gaily  at  the  merry  cousins. 

So  they  entered,  and  met  the  bevy  of  young  school  girls  on 
the  portico,  with  whom  Mr.  Kalph  Ashley,  in  some  manner,  be 
came  instantaneously  popular  :  perhaps  partly  on  account  of  the 
grotesque  presents  he  scattered  among  them,  with  his  gay,  joyous 
laughter.  After  thus  making  himself  generally  agreeable,  he 
looked  at  the  setting  sun,  and  said  he  must  go.  He  would,  however, 
soon  return,  he  said,  to  see  his  dearest  Fanny,  the  delight  of  his 
existence.  And  having  made  this  pleasant  speech,  he  went  away 
on  his  elegant  horse,  laughing,  good-humored,  and  altogether  a 
very  pleasing,  graceful-looking  cavalier,  as  the  red  sunset 
showered  upon  his  rich  apparel  and  his  slender  charger  all  its 
wealth  of  ruddy,  golden  light. 

And  as  he  went  on  thus,  so  gallant,  in  the  bravery  of  youth 
and  joy,  a  young  lady,  sitting  on  the  sun-lit  portico,  followed  him 


THE  NECKLACE.  157 

with  her  eyes;  and  leaning  her  fine  brow,  with  its  ebon  curls, 
upon  her  hand,  mused  with  a  sigh  and  a  smile.  And  when  the 
cavalier  turned  round  as  the  trees  swallowed  him,  and  waved  his 
hat,  with  its  fine  feather,  in  the  golden  light,  Miss  Fanny 
murmured — "  Really,  I  think— -Ralph —  has  very  much  —  im 
proved  !"  Which  seemed  to  be  a  very  afflicting  circumstance  to 
Miss  Fanny,  inasmuch  as  she  uttered  a  deep  sigh. 

Meanwhile  our  little  Redbud  gazed,  too,  from  the  brilliantly- 
illumined  portico,  toward  the  golden  ocean  in  the  west.  The  rich 
light  lingered  lovingly  upon  her  golden  hair,  and  tender  lips  and 
cheeks,  and  snowy  neck,  on  which  the  coral  necklace  rose  and 
fell  with  the  pulsations  of  her  heart.  The  kind,  mild  eyes  were 
fixed  upon  the  sunset  sadly,  and  their  blue  depths  seemed  to  hold 
more  than  one  clew-drop,  ready  to  pass  the  barrier  of  the  long 
dusky  lashes,  which  closed  gradually  as  the  pure  white  forehead 
drooped  upon  her  hand. 

For  a  long  time  the  tender  heart  remained  thus  still  and  quiet ; 
then  her  lips  moved  faintly,  and  she  murmured — 

"  Oh,  it  is  wrong — I  know  it  is — I  ought  not  to  !" 

And  two  tears  fell  on  the  child's  hand,  and  on  the  necklace, 
which  the  fingers  held. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

PHILOSOPHICAL. 

WE  left  our  friend  Verty  slowly  going  onward  toward  the 
western  hills,  under  the  golden  autumn  sunset,  with  drooping 
head  and  listless  arms,  thinking  of  Redbud  and  the  events  of  the 
day,  which  now  was  going  to  its  death  in  royal  purple  over  the 
far  horizon. 

One  thought,  one  image  only  dwelt  in  the  young  man's  mind, 
and  what  that  thought  was,  his  tell-tale  lips  clearly  revealed : — 
"  Redbud  !  Redbud  !"  they  murmured ;  and  the  dreamer  seemed 
to  be  wholly  dead  to  that  splendid  scene  around  him,  dreaming 
of  his  love. 

There  are  those  who  speak  slightingly  of  boyhood  and  its  feel 
ings,  scoffing  at  the  early  yearnings  of  the  heart,  and  finding  only 
food  for  jest  in  those  innocent  and  childish  raptures  and  regrets. 
We  do  not  envy  such.  That  man's  heart  must  be  made  of 
doubtful  stuff,  who  jeers  at  the  fresh  dreams  of  youth ;  or  rather, 
he  must  have  no  heart  at  all — above  all,  no  sweet  and  affecting 
recollections.  There  is  something  touching  in  the  very  idea  of 
this  pure  and  unselfish  emotion,  which  the  hardened  nature  of  the 
grown-up  man  can  never  feel  again.  Men  often  dream  about 
their  childhood,  and  shed  unavailing  tears  as  they  gaze  in  fancy 
on  their  own  youthful  faces,  and  with  the  pencil  of  imagination 
slowly  trace  the  old  forms  and  images. 

Said  a  writer  of  our  acquaintance,  no  matter  who,  since  no 
one  read  or  thought  of  him : — "  The  writer  of  these  idle  lines 


PHILOSOPHICAL.  159 

finds  no  difficulty  in  painting  for  himself  a  Titian  picture,  in 
which,  as  in  his  life-picture,  his  own  figure  lies  on  the  canvas. 
Long  ago — a  long,  long  time  ago — in  fact,  when  he  was  a  boy, 
and  loved  dearly  a,  child  like  himself,  a  child  who  is  now  a  fair 
and  beautiful-browed  woman,  and  who  smiles  with  a  dreamy, 
thoughtful  expression,  when  his  face  comes  to  her — long  ago, 
flowers  were  very  bright  in  the  bright  May  day,  by  a  country 
brookside.  The  butter-cups  were  over  all  the  hills,  for  children 
to  put  under  their  chins,  and  pea-blossoms,  veiy  much  like  lady- 
slippers,  swayed  prettily  in  the  wind.  Beneath  the  feet  of  the 
boy  and  girl — she  was  a  merry,  bright-eyed  child !  how  I  love 
her  still ! — broke  crocusesSand  violets,  and  a  thousand  wild 
flowers,  fresh  and  full  of  fairy  beauty.  The  grass  was  green  and 
soft,  and  the  birds  rose  through  the  air  on  fluttering  wings,  sing 
ing  and  rejoicing,  and  the  clouds  floated  over  them  as  only  clouds 
in  May  can  float,  quickly,  hopefully,  with  a  dash  of  changeful 
April  in  them — not  like  those  of  August :  for  the  May  cloud  is  a 
maiden,  a  child,  full  of  life  and  joy,  running  and  playing,  and 
looking  playfully  back  at  the  winds  as  they  rustle  on — not 
August-like — a  thoughtful  ripened  beauty,  large,  lazy,  and  contem 
plative,  whose  spring  of  youth  has  passed,  whose  summer  has  arriv 
ed,  in  all  its  wealth,  and  power,  and  languid  splendor.  Well,  they 
wandered — the  boy  and  girl — on  the  bright  May  day,  pleasantly 
across  the  hills,  and  along  the  brook,  which  ran  merrily  over  the 
pebbles  as  bright  as  diamonds.  That  boy  has  now  become  a 
man,  and  he  has  vainly  sought,  in  all  the  glittering  pursuits  of 
life,  an  adequate  recompense  for  the  death  of  those  soft  hours. 
ILiving  gone,  as  all  things  must  go,  they  left  no  equivalent  in  the 
future.  But  not,  therefore,  in  sadness  does  he  write  this:  rather 
in  deep  joy,  and  as  though  he  had  said — 

'  Give  me  a  golden  pen,  and  let  me  lean 
On  heaped-up  flowers — ' 

"  So  wholly  flooded  is  his  heart  with  the  memory  of  that  young, 


160  PHILOSOPHICAL. 

frank  face.  She  wore  a  pink  dress,  he  recollects — all  children 
should  wear  either  pink  or  white — and  her  hair  was  in  long, 
bright  curls,  and  her  eyes  were  diamonds,  full  of  light.  He 
thought  the  birds  were  envious  of  her  singing,  when  she  carolled 
clearly  in  the  bright  May  morning.  He  wove  her  a  garland  of 
flowers  for  her  hair,  and  she  blushed  as  she  took  it  from  his 
hands.  She  had  on  a  small  gold  ring,  and  a  red  bracelet;  and 
since  that  time  he  has  loved  red  bracelets  more  than  all  barbaric 
pearls  and  gold.  In  those  times,  the  trees  were  greener  than  at 
present,  the  birds  sang  more  sweetly,  and  the  streams  ran  far 
more  merrily.  They  thought  so  at  least,  as  they  sat  under  a 
large  oak,  and  he  read  to  her,  with^iadowy,  loving  eyes,  nearly 
full  of  happy  tears,  old  songs,  that  '  dallied  with  the  innocence 
of  love,  like  the  old  age.'  And  so  the  evening  went  into  the 
west,  and  they  returned,  and  all  the  night  and  long  days  after 
ward  her  smile  shone  on  him,  brightening  his  life  as  it  does 
now." 

Who  laughs  ?  Is  it  at  Vcrty  going  along  with  drooping  fore 
head,  and  deep  sighs;  or  at  the  unappreciated  great  poet,  whose 
prose-strains  we  have  recorded  ?  Well,  friends,  perhaps  you 
have  reason.  Therefore,  let  us  unite  our  voices  in  one  great 
burst  of  "  inextinguishable  laughter" — as  of  the  gods  on  Mount 
Olympus — raised  very  high  above  the  world  ! 

Let  us  rejoice  that  we  have  become  more  rational,  and  discard 
ed  all  that  folly,  and  arc  busying  ourselves  with  rational  affairs — 
Wall-street,  and  cent  per  cent,  and  dividends.  Having  become 
men,  we  have  put  away  childish  things,  and  among  them,  the 
encumbrances  of  a  heart.  Who  would  have  one  ?  It  makes 
you  dream  on  autumn  days,  when  the  fair  sunlight  streams  upon 
the  sails  which  waft  the  argosies  of  commerce  to  your  ware 
house  ; — it  almost  leads  you  to  believe  that  stocks  are  not  the  one 
thing  to  be  thought  of  on  this  earth — that  all  the  hurrying  bustle 
of  existence  is  of  doubtful  weight,  compared  with  the  treasures 
of  that  memory  which  leads  us  back  to  boyhood  pnd  its  innocent 


PHILOSOPHICAL.  161 

illusions.  Let  us  part  with  it,  if  any  indeed  remains,  and  so  press 
on,  unfettered,  in  the  glorious  race  for  cash.  The  "golden  age" 
of  Arcady  is  gone  so  long — the  new  has  come !  The  crooks 
wreathed  round  with  flowers  are  changed  into  telegraph-posts, 
and  Corydon  is  on  a  three-legged  stool,  busy  with  ledgers — knit 
ting  his  brow  as  he  adds  up  figures.  Let  us  be  thankful. 

Therefore,  as  we  have  arrived  at  this  rational  conclusion,  and 
come  to  regard  Verty  and  his  feelings  in  their  proper  light,  we 
will  not  speak  further  of  the  foolish  words  which  escaped  from 
his  lips,  as  he  went  on,  in  the  crimson  sunset  slowly  fading.  In 
time,  perhaps,  his  education  will  be  completed  in  the  school  of 
Rational  Philosophy,  under  that  distinguished  lady-professor,  Miss 
Sallianna.  At  present  we  shall  allow  him  to  proceed  upon  his 
way  toward  his  lodge  in  the  wilderness,  where  the  old  Indian 
woman  awaits  him  with  her  deep  love  and  anxious  tenderness. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

CONSEQUENCES  OF  MISS  SALLIANNA's  PASSION  FOR  VERTY, 

WHEN  Verty  made  his  appearance  at  the  office  in  Winchester, 
On  the  morning  of  the  day  which  followed  immediately  the  erenta 
We  have  just  related,  Roundjacket  received  him  with  a  mysteri 
ous  smile,  and  with  an  expression  of  eye,  particularly,  which 
seemed  to  suggest  the  most  profound  secrecy  and  confidence. 
Roundjacket  did  not  say  anything,  but  his  smile  was  full  of 
meaning. 

Verty,  however,  failed  to  comprehend ; — even  paid  no  atten 
tion  to  his  poetical  friend,  when  that  gentleman  put  his  hand  in 
his  breast-pocket,  and  half-drew  something  therefrom,  looking  at 
Verty. 

The  young  man  was  too  much  absorbed  in  gloomy  thought  to 
observe  these  manoeuvres ;  and,  besides,  we  must  not  lose  sight 
of  the  fact,  that  he  was  an  Indian,  and  did  not  understand  hints 
and  intimations  as  well  as  civilized  individuals. 

Houndjacket  was  forced,  at  last,  to  clear  his  throat  and  speak. 

"  Hem  !"  observed  the  poet. 

"  Sir  ?"  said  Verty,  for  the  tone  of  Roundjacket's  observation 
was  such  as  to  convey  the  impression  that  he  was  about  to  speak. 

"  I've  got  something  for  you,  my  dear  fellow,"  said  the  poet. 

"  Have  you,  sir  ?" 

"  Yes ;  now  guess  what  it  is." 

"  I  don't  think  I  could." 

"  What  do  you  imagine  it  can  be  ?" 


CONSEQUENCES  OF  MISS  SALLIANNA'S  PASSION.       163 

Verty  shook  his  head,  and  leaned  upon  his  desk. 

"  It  has  some  connection  with  the  subject  of  numerous  con 
versations  we  have  held,"  said  Roundjacket,  persuasively,  wav 
ing  backward  and  forward  the  ruler  which  he  had  taken  up 
abstractedly,  and  as  he  did  so,  indulging  in  a  veiled  and  confi 
dential  smile  ;  "  now  you  can  guess — can't  you  ?" 

"  I  think  not,  sir." 

"  Why,  what  have  we  been  talking  about  lately  ?" 

"  Law." 

"No,  sir!" 

"Havn't  wef 

"By  no  means — that  is  to  say,  there  is  a  still  more  interesting 
subject,  my  dear  young  savage,  than  even  law." 

"  Oh,  I  know  now — " 

«  Ah—!" 

"  It  is  poetry." 

"  Bah !"  observed  the  poet;  "you're  out  yet.  But  who 
knows"?  Your  guess  may  be  correct.  It  may  be  poetry." 

«  What,  sir  I" 

"  This  letter  for  you,  from  a  lady,"  said  Roundjacket,  smiling, 
and  drawing  from  his  pocket  an  elegantly  folded  billet. 

Verty  rose  quickly. 

"  A  letter  for  me,  sir!"  he  said,  blushing. 

"  Yes ;  not  from  a  great  distance  though,"  Roundjacket  re 
plied,  with  a  sly  chuckle;  *'  see  here;  the  post-mark  is  the 
4  Bower  of  Nature.' " 

Verty  extended  his  hand  abruptly,  his  lips  open,  his  counte 
nance  glowing. 

"  Oh,  give  it  to  me,  sir !" 

Roundjacket  chuckled  more  than  ever,  and  handing  it  to  the 
young  man,  said : 

"  An  African  of  small  dimensions  brought  it  this  morning,  and 
said  no  answer  was  required — doubtless,  therefore,  it  is  not  a  love- 
letter,  the  writers  of  which  are  well-known  to  appreciate  replies. 
Hey  !  what's  the  matter,  my  friend  ?" 


16i       CONSEQUENCES  OF  MISS  SALLIANNA's  PASSION. 

This  exclamation  was  called  forth  by  the  sudden  and  extraor 
dinary  change  in  Verty's  physiognomy.  As  we  have  said,  the 
young  man  had  received  the  letter  with  a  radiant  flush,  and  a 
brilliant  flash  of  his  fine  eye ;  and  thus  the  reader  will  easily 
•Comprehend,  when  we  inform  him,  that  Verty  imagined  the  letter 
to  be  from  Redbud.  Redbud  was  his  one  thought,  the  only  im 
age  in  his  mind,  and  Roundjaekct's  words,  "post-mark,  the 
Bower  of  Nature,"  had  overwhelmed  him  with  the  blissful  ex 
pectation  of  a  note  from  Redbud,  with  loving  words  of  explana 
tion  in  it,  recalling  him,  making  him  once  more  happy.  He  tore 
open  the  letter,  which  was  simply  directed  to  "  ]VJr.  Vcrty,  at 
Judge  Rushtoxk*8  office,"  and  found  his  dream  dispelled.  Alas  ! 
the  name,  at  the  foot  of  the  manuscript,  was  not  "Redbud" — it 
was  "  Sallianna !" 

And  so,  when  the  young  man's  hopes  were  overturned,  the 
bright  flash  of  his  clear  eye  was  veiled  in  mist  again,  and  his 
hand  fell,  with  a  gesture  of  discouragement,  which  Roundjacket 
Xound  no  difficulty  in  understanding. 

Verty's  face  drooped  upon  his  hand,  and  with  the  other  hand, 
which  held  the  letter,  hanging  down  at  the  side  of  his  chair,  he 
wghed  profoundly.  He  remained  thus,  buried  in  thought,  for 
isome  time,  Roundjacket  gazing  at  him  in  silence.  He  was 
aroused  by  something  pulling  at  the  letter,  which  turned  to  be 
Longears,  who  was  biting  Miss  Sallianna's  epistle  in  a  literary 
way,  and  this  aroused  him.  He  saw  Roundjacket  looking  at 
him. 

"  Ah — ah  !"  said  that  gentleman,  "  it  seems,  young  man,  that 
the  letter  is  not  to  your  taste." 

Verty  sighed. 

"I  hav'nt  read  it,"  he  said. 

"How  then — f 

"  It's  not  from  Redbud." 

Roundjacket  chuckled. 

"  I    begin    to    understand    now    why  your    face    changed  go 


CONSEQUENCES  OF  MISS  SALLIANNA'S  PASSION.       165 

abruptly  when  you  recognized  the  handwriting,  Mr.  Verty,"  said 
the  poet,  gently  brandishing  the  ruler,  and  directing  imaginary 
orchestras;  "you  expected  a  note  from  your  friend,  Miss  Ked- 
bud — horrid  habit  you  have,  that  of  cutting  off  the  Miss — and 
now  you  are  unhappy." 

"  Yes — unhappy,"  Yerty  said,  leaning  his  head  on  his  wrist. 

"  Who's  the  letter  from  ?" 

"It's  marked  private  and  confidential,  sir;"  I  ought  not  to 
tell  you— ought  I?" 

"  No,  sir,  by  no  means,"  said  Eoundjacket ;  "  I  would'nt 
listen  to  it  for  a  bag  of  doubloons.  But  you  should  read  it." 

"  I  will,  sir,"  Yerty  said,  sighing. 

And  he  spread  the  letter  out  before  him  and  read  it  carefully, 
with  many  varying  expressions  on  his  face.  The  last  expression 
of  all,  however,  was  grief  and  pain.  As  he  finished,  his  head 
again  drooped,  and  his  sorrowful  eyes  were  fixed  on  vacancy. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,  Yerty,  my  friend,"  said  Eoundjacket, 
chuckling,  "  I  don't  think  we  make  much  by  keeping  you  from 
paying  a  daily  visit  to  some  of  your  friends.  My  own  opinion 
is,  that  you  would  do  more  work  if  you  went  and  had  some 
amuseme'nt." 

"  And  I  think  so,  too,"  said  a  rough  voice  behind  the  speaker, 
whose  back  was  turned  to  the  front  door  of  the  office  ;  "  it  is  re 
freshing  to  hear  you  talking  sense,  instead  of  nonsense,  once  in 
your  life,  Eoundjacket." 

And  Mr.  Eushton  strode  in,  and  looked  around  him  with  a 
scowl. 

"  Good  morning,  sir,"  said  Yerty,  sadly. 

"  Good  morning,  sir?"  growled  Mr.  Eushton,  "no,  sir!  it's  a 
bad  morning,  a  wretched,  diabolical  morning,  if  the  sun  is  pre 
tending  to  shine." 

"  I  think  the  sunshine  is  very  pretty,  sir." 

"  Yes — I  suppose  you  do — I  have  no  doubt  of  it — everything 
is  pretty,  of  course. — Eoundjacket !" 


166       CONSEQUENCES  OF  MISS  SALLIANNA'S  PASSION. 

"Wellf 

"  Did  you  get  exhibit  10  ?" 

"  I  did,  sir,"  replied  Roundjacket,  sighting  his  ruler  to  see  if 
it  was  straight.  "  Have  you  had  your  breakfast,  sir  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir ;  why  did  you  ask  ?" 

u  Oh,  nothing — you  know  I  thought  you  uncommonly  amiable 
this  morning." 

Mr.  Rushton  scowled,  and  the  ghost  of  a  smile  passed  over 
his  rigid  lips. 

"  I  am  nothing  of  the  sort!  I'm  a  perfect  bear!"  he  growled. 

"  Not  inconsistent  with  my  former  observation  that  you  were 
better  than  usual,"  observed  tloundjacket,  with  an  agreeable 
smile.  "I  can  prove  to  you  quite  readily  that — " 

"  You  are  a  ninny — I  have  no  doubt  of  it — if  I  would  listen  to 
your  wretched  jabber!  Enough!  if  you  talk  any  more  I'll  go 
home  again.  A  fine  state  of  things,  truly — that  I  am  to  have  my 
mind  dissipated  when  I'm  in  working  trim  by  the  nonsense  of  a 
crack-brained  poet !" 

Roundjacket's  indignation  at  this  unfeeling  allusion  to  his 
great  poem  was  so  intense,  that  for  the  moment  he  was  com 
pletely  deprived  of  utterance. 

"  And  as  for  you,  young  man,"  said  Mr.  Rushton,  smiling 
grimly  at  Verty,  "  I  suppose  you  are  following  the  ordinary 
course  of  foolish  young  men,  and  falling  in  love  !  Mark  me,  sir! 
the  man  that  falls  in  love  makes  a  confounded  fool  of  himself — 
you  had  better  at  once  go  and  hang  yourself.  Pretty  people  you 
are,  with  your  'eyes'  and '  sighs' — your  '  loves'  and  '  doves' — your 
moonlight,  and  flowers  and  ecstacies !  Avoid  it,  sir !  it's  like 
honey- water — it  catches  the  legs  of  flies  like  you,  and  holds  you 
tight.  Don't  think  you  can  take  a  slight  sip  of  the  wine,  sir,  and 
there  leave  off — no,  sir,  you  don't  leave  off,  you  youngsters  never 
do ;  you  guzzle  a  gallon !  The  consequence  is  intellectual 
drunkenness,  and  thus  you  make,  as  I  said  before,  confounded 
fools  of  yourselves  !  Bah  !  why  am  I  wasting  my  time !— -a  vast 


CONSEQUENCES  OF  MISS  SALLIANNA's  PASSION.      167 

deal  of  influence  we  people  who  give  good  advice  possess !  Young 
men  will  be  fools  to  the  end — go  and  see  your  sweetheart !" 

And  with  a  grim  smile,  the  shaggy  lawyer  entered  histsanctum, 
and  banged  the  door,  just  as  Roundjacket,  still  irate  about  the 
slur  cast  upon  his  poetry,  had  commenced  reading  in  a  loud  voice 
the  fine  introductory  stanzas — his  hair  sticking  up,  his  eyes 
rolling,  his  ruler  breaking  the  skulls  of  invisible  foes.  Alas  for 
Roundjacket  ! — nobody  appreciated  him,  which  is  perhaps  one  of 
the  most  disagreeable  things  in  nature.  Even  Verty  rose  in  a 
minute,  and  took  up  his  hat  and  rifle,  as  was  his  habit. 

Roundjacket  rolled  up  his  manuscript  with  a  deep  sigh,  and 
restored  it  to  the  desk. 

"  Where  are  you  going,  young  man?"  he  said.  "But  I  know 
—and  that  is  your  excuse  for  such  shocking  taste  as  you  display. 
As  for  the  within  bear,"  and  Roundjacket  pointed  toward  Mr. 
Rushton's  apartment,  "  he  is  unpardonable!" 

"  Well,  good-bye." 

These  latter  words  were  uttered  as  Verty  went  out,  followed 
by  Longears,  and  closed  the  door  of  the  office  after  him. 

He  had  scarcely  heard  or  understood  Mr.  Rushton's  extraordi 
nary  speech :  but  had  comprehended  that  he  was  free  to  go 
away,  and  in  the  troubled  state  of  his  mind,  this  was  a  great 
boon.  Yes  !  he  would  go  and  suffer  again  in  Redbud's  presence 
— this  time  he  would  know  whether  she  really  hated  him.  And 
then  that  passage  in  the  letter !  The  thought  tore  his  heart. 

What  could  the  reason  for  this  dislike  possibly  be  ?  Certainly 
not  his  familiar  ascent  to  her  room,  on  the  previous  day.  Could 
it  have  been  because  she  did  not  like  him  in  his  fine  clothes  ? 
Was  this  latter  possible  ?  It  might  be. 

"  I'll  go  to  Mr.  O'Brallaghan's  and  get  my  old  suit — he  has 
riot  sent  them  yet,"  said  Verty,  aloud ;  "  then  I'll  go  and  see 
Redbud  just  as  she  used  to  see  me  in  old  times,  at  Apple  Orchard, 
when  we  were — ah  ! — so  happy !" 


168       CONSEQUENCES  OF  MISS  SALLIANNA'S  PASSION. 

The  "  ah"  above,  represents  a  very  deep  sigh,  which  issued 
from  Verty's  breast,  as  he  went  along  with  the  dignified  Longears 
at  his  heels.  Longears  never  left  his  master,  unless  he  was  par 
ticularly  attracted  by  a  small  fight  among  some  of  his  brethren, 
or  was  seized  with  a  desire  to  thrust  his  nostrils  against  some  baby 
playing  on  the  sidewalk,  (a  ceremony  which,  we  are  sorry  to  say, 
he  accompanied  with  a  sniff,)  throwing  the  juvenile  responsibility, 
thereby,  into  convulsions,  evidenced  by  yells.  With  these  excep 
tions,  Longears  was  a  well-behaved  dog,  and  followed  his  master 
in  a  most  "  respectable"  manner. 

Verty  arrived  at  the  fluttering  doorway  of  O'Brallaghan's 
shop,  and  encountered  the  proprietor  upon  the  threshold,  who 
made  him  a  low  bow.  His  errand  was  soon  told,  and  O'Bral- 
laghan  entered  into  extensive  explanations  and  profuse  apologies 
for  the  delay  in  sending  home  Mr.  Verty's  suit  left  with  him.  It 
would  have  received  "attinshun"  that  very  morning — it  was-  in 
the  back  room.  Would  Mr.  Verty  "inter?" 

Verty  entered  accordingly,  followed  by  the  stately  Longears, 
who  rubbed  his  nose  against  O'Brallaghan's  stockings  as  he 
passed,  afterwards  shaking  his  head,  as  if  they  were  not  to  his 
taste. 

Verty  found  himself  opposite  to  Mr.  Jinks,  who  was  driving 
his  needle  as  savagely  as  ever,  and,  with  a  tremendous  frown, 
chaunting  the  then  popular  ditty  of  the  "  Done-over  Tailor." 
Whether  this  was  in  gloomy  satire  upon  his  own  occupation  we 
cannot  say,  but  certainly  the  lover  of  the  divine  Miss  Sallianna 
presented  an  appearance  very  different  from  his  former  one,  at 
the  Bower  of  Nature.  His  expression  was  as  dignified  and  lofty 
as  before ;  but  as  to  costume,  the  least  said  about  Mr.  Jinks  the 
better.  We  may  say,  however,  that  it  consisted  mainly  of  a  pair 
of  slippers  and  a  nightcap,  from  the  summit  of  which  latter  arti 
cle  of  clothing  drooped  a  lengthy  tassel. 

On  Verty's  entrance,  Mr.  Jinks  started  up  with  a  terrific 
frown ;  or  rather,  to  more  accurately  describe  the  movement 


CONSEQUENCES  OF  MISS  SALLIANNA'S  PASSION.       169 

which  lie  made,  uncoiled  his  legs,  and  raised  his  stooping 
shoulders.  • 

"  How,  sir  !"  he  cried,  "  is  my  privacy  again  invaded  !" 

"  I  came  to  get  my  clothes,"  said  Verty,  preoccupied  with  his 
own  thoughts,  and  very  indifferent  to  the  hero's  ire. 

"  That's  no  excuse,  sir  !" 

"  Excuse  ?"  said  Verty. 

"  Yes,  sir — I  said  excuse ;  this  is  my  private  apartment,  and 
I  have  told  O'Brallaghan  that  it  should  not  be  invaded,  sir  !" 

These  indignant  words  brought  Mr.  O'Brallaghan  to  the 
door,  whereupon  Mr.  Jinks  repeated  his  former  observation, 
and  declared  that  it  was  an  outrage  upon  his  dignity  and  his 
rights. 

O'Brallaghan  displayed  some  choler  at  the  tone  which  Mr. 
Jinks  used,  and  his  Irish  blood  began  to  rise.  He  stated  that 
Mr.  Verty  had  come  for  his  clothes,  and  should  have  them.  Mr. 
Jinks  replied,  that  he  had'nt  said  anything  about  Mr.  Verty ;  but 
was  contending  for  a  principle.  Mr.  O'Brallaghan  replied  to  this 
with  an  observation  which  was  lost  in  his  neck-handkerchief,  but 
judging  from  as  much  as  was  audible,  in  defiance  and  contempt 
of  Jinks.  Jinks  observed,  with  dignity  and  severity,  that  there 
were  customers  in  the  store,  who  were  gazing  at  Mr.  Verty,  just 
as  he  was  about  to  disrobe.  O'Brallaghan  muttered  thereupon 
to  himself  some  hostile  epithets,  and  hastily  returned  to  wait 
upon  the  customers,  leaving  Mr.  Jinks  dodging  to  avoid  the  eyes 
of  the  new-comers,  but  still  preserving  an  expression  of  haughty 
scorn. 

Meanwhile  Verty  had  descried  his  old  forest  suit  lying  upon  a 
shelf,  and,  laying  down  his  rifle,  had  nearly  indued  his  limbs 
therewith.  In  fifteen  minutes  he  had  completed  the  change  in 
his  costume,  and  stood  before  Mr.  Jinks  the  same  forest-hunter 
which  he  had  been,  before  the  purchase  of  the  elegant  clothes  he 
had  just  taken  off.  Instead  of  resetted  shoes,  moccasins  ;  instead 
of  silk  and  velvet,  leather  and  fur.  On  his  head,  his  old  white 


170       CONSEQUENCES  OF  MISS  SALLIANNA'S  PASSION. 

hat  had  taken  the  place  of  the  fashionable  chupcau.  Verty  fin 
ished,  by  taking  off'  the  bow  of  ribbon  which  secured  his  hair 
behind,  and  scattering  the  profuse  curls  over  his  shoulders. 

"  Now,"  he  sighed,  looking  in  a  mirror  which  hung  upon  the 
wall,  "  I  feel  more  like  myself." 

Jinks  gazed  at  him  with  dignified  emotion. 

"  You  return  to  the  woods,  sir,"  he  paid ;  "  would  that  I  could 
make  up  my  mind  to  follow  your  example.  This  man,  O'Bral- 
laghan,  however " 

And  Mr.  Jinks  completed  his  sentence  by  savagely  clipping  a 
piece  of  cloth  with  the  huge  shears  he  held,  as  though  the 
enemy's  neck  were  between  them. 

Verty  scarcely  observed  this  irate  movement. 

"I'll  leave  the  clothes  here,"  he  said;  "I'm  going  now — 
good-bye." 

And  taking  up  his  rifle,  the  young  man  went  out,  followed  by 
Longears,  who,  to  the  last,  bent  his  head  over  his  shoulder,  and 
gazed  upon  Mr.  Jinks  with  curiosity  and  interest. 

Jinks,  with  a  savage  look  at  O'Brallaghan,  was  about  to  re 
turn  to  his  work,  when  a  letter,  protruding  from  the  pocket  of 
the  coat  which  Verty  had  just  taken  off,  attracted  his  attention, 
and  he  pounced  upon  it  without  hesitation. 

Jinks  had  recognized  the  handwriting  of  Miss  Sallianna  in  the 
address,  and  in  an  instant  determined  to  use  no  ceremony. 

He  tore  it  open,  and  read,  with  savage  scowls  and  horrible  con 
tortions  of  the  visage,  that  which  follows.  Unfortunate  Jinks — 
reading  private  letters  is  a  hazardous  proceeding :  and  this  was 
what  the  hero  read : 


CONSEQUENCES  OF  MISS  SALLIANNA'S  PASSION.       171 

"  BOWER  OF  NATURE,  ) 
"  AT  THE  MATIN  HOUR.  ) 
"CHARMING,  AND,  ALAS! 

"  TOO  DANGEROUS  YOUNG  MAN : 

"  Since  seeing  thee.  on  yester  eve,  my  feelings  have  greatly 
changed  in  intensity,  and  I  fluctuate  beneath  an  emotion  of  obli 
vious  delight.  Alas!  we  young,  weak  women,  try  in  vain  to 
obstruct  the  gurgling  of  the  bosom ;  for  I  perceive  that  even 
I  am  not  proof  against  the  arrows  of  the  god  Diana.  My  heart 
has  thrilled,  my  dearest  friend,  ever  since  you  departed,  yester  eve, 
with  a  devious  and  intrinsic  sensation  of  voluminous  delight. 
The  feelings  cannot  be  concealed,  but  must  be  impressed  in  words; 
or,  as  the  great  Milton  says,  in  his  Bucoliks,  the  o'er-fraught 
heart  would  break !  Love,  my  dear  Mr.  Verty,  is  contiguous — 
you  cannot  be  near  the  beloved  object  without  catching  the 
contagion,  and  to  this  fact  I  distribute  that  flame  which  now 
flickers  with  intense  conflagration  in  my  bosom.  Why,  cruel 
member  of  the  other  sex !  did  you  evade  the  privacy  of  our 
innocent  and  nocturnal  retreat,  turning  the  salubrious  and  maiden 
emotions  of  my  bosom  into  agonizing  delight  and  repressible 
tribulation !  Could  you  not  practice  upon  others  the  wiles  of 
your  intrinsic  charms,  and  spare  the  weak  Sallianna,  whose  only 
desire  was  to  contemplate  the  beauties  of  nature  in  her  calm 
retreat,  where  a  small  property  sufficed  for  all  her  mundane  neces 
sities  ?  Alas  !  but  yester  morn  I  was  cheerful  and  invigorating — 
with  a  large  criterion  of  animal  spirits,  and  a  bosom  which  had 
never  sighed  responsible  to  the  flattering  vows  of  beaux.  But 
now  ! — ask  me  not  how  I  feel,  in  thinking  of  the  person  who  has 
touched  my  indurate  heart.  Need  I  say  that  the  individual  in 
question  has  only  to  demand  that  heart,  to  have  it  detailed  to  him 
in  all  its  infantile  simplicity  and  diurnal  self-reliance  1  Do  not — 
do  not — diffuse  it ! 

"  I  have,  during  the  whole  period  of  my  mundane  pre-exist  - 
ence,  always  been  troubled  with  beaux  and  admirers.  I  have, 


172       CONSEQUENCES  OF  MISS  SALLIANNA'S  PASSION. 

in  vain,  endeavored  to  escape  from  their  fascinating  diplomas, 
but  they  have  followed  me,  and  continued  to  prosecute  me  with 
their  adorous  intentions.  None  of  them  could  ever  touch  my 
fanciful  disposition,  which  has  exalted  an  intrinsic  and  lofty  beau- 
idle  to  itself.  I  always  had  to  reply,  when  they  got  down  upon 
their  knees  to  me,  and  squeezed  my  hands,  that  I  could  not  force 
my  sensations  ;  and  though  I  should  ever  esteem  them  as  friends, 
I  could  not  change  my  condition  of  maiden  meditation  and  ex 
culpation  for  the  agitation  of  matrimonial  engagements.  I 
need  not  say  that  now  my  feelings  have  changed,  and  you,  Mr. 
Verty,  have  become  the  idle  of  my  existence.  You  are  yet 
young,  but  with  a  rare  and  intrinsic  power  of  intellect.  In 
future,  you  will  not  pay  any  more  intention  to"  that  foolish  little 
Reddy,  who  is  very  well  in  her  way,  but  unworthy  of  a  great 
and  opprobrious  intelligence  like  yours.  She  is  a  mere  child,  as 
I  often  tell  her,  and  cannot  love. 

"  Come  to  your  devoted  Sallianna  immediately,  and  let  us 
discurse  the  various  harmonies  of  nature.  I  have  given  orders 
not  to  admit  any  of  my  numerous  beaux,  especially  that  odious 
Mr.  Jinks,  who  is  my  abomination.  I  will  tell  llecldy  that  your 
visit  is  to  me,  and  she  will  not  annoy  you,  especially  as  she  is  in 
love  with  a  light  young  man  who  comes  to  see  Fanny,  her  cousin, 
Mr.  Ashley. 

"  Come  to  one  who  awaits  thec,  and  who  assigns  herself 
"Your  devoted, 

"  SALLIANNA." 

Jinks  frowned  a  terrible  frown,  and  ground  his  teeth. 

For  a  moment,  he  stood  gazing  with  profound  contempt  upon 
the  letter  which  he  had  just  read  ;  then  seizing  his  shears,  snip 
ped  the  unfortunate  sheet  into  microscopic  fragments,  all  the 
while  frowning  with  terrible  intensity. 

The  letter  destroyed,  Jinks  stood  for  a  moment  with  folded 
arms,  scowling  and  reflecting. 


CONSEQUENCES  OF  MISS  SALLIANNA'S  .PASSION.       173 

Suddenly  he  strode  to  the  other  side  of  the  room,  kicking  off 
his  slippers  as  he  went,  and  hurling  his  night-cap  at  the  mirror. 

"Yes!"  he  cried,  grinding  his  teeth,  "  I'll  do  it,  and  without 
delay — perfidious  woman  !" 

In  ten  minutes  Mr.  Jinks  had  assumed  his  usual  fashionable 
costume,  and  buckled  on  his  sword.  A  savage  flirt  of  his  locks 
completed  his  toilette,  and  in  all  the  splendor  of  his  scarlet  stock 
ings  and  embroidered  waistcoat,  he  issued  forth. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

INTERCHANGE  OF  COMPLIMENTS. 

O'BRALLAGHAN,  as  he  passed  through  the  shop,  requested  to 
be  informed  where  Mr.  Jinks  was  going. 

Jinks  stopped,  and  scowled  at  Mr.  O'Brallaghan,  thereby  inti 
mating  that  his,  Jinks',  private  rights  were  insolently  invaded  by 
a  coarse  interrogatory. 

O'Brallaghan  observed,  that  if  Mr.  Jinks  was  laboring  under 
the  impression  that  he,  O'Brallaghan,  was  to  be  frowned  down 
by  an  individual  of  his  description,  he  was  greatly  mistaken. 
And  by  way  of  adding  to  the  force  of  this  observation,  Mr. 
O'Brallaghan  corrugated  his  forehead  in  imitation  of  his 
adversary. 

Jinks  replied,  that  he  was  equally  indifferent  to  the  scowls  of 
Mr.  O'Brallaghan,  and  expressed  his  astonishment  and  disgust  at 
being  annoyed,  when  he  was  going  out  to  take  some  exercise  for 
the  benefit  of  his  health. 

O'Brallaghan  informed  Mr.  Jinks  that  the  going  out  had  no 
thing  to  do  with  it,  and  that  he,  Jinks,  knew  very  well  that  ho, 
O'Brallaghan,  objected  to  nothing  but  the  tone  assumed  toward 
himself  by  the  said  Jinks,  whose  airs  were  not  to  be  endured, 
and,  in  future,  would  not  be,  by  him.  If  this  was  not  satisfac 
tory,  he,  the  said  Jinks,  might  take  the  law  of  him,  or  come  out 
and  have  it  decided  with  shillalies,  either  of  which  courses  were 
perfectly  agreeable  to  him,  O'Brallaghan. 

Whereupon,  Jinks  expanded  his  nostril,  and  said  that  gentle 
men  did  riot  use  the  vulgar  Irish  weapon  indicated. 


INTERCHANGE   OF   COMPLIMENTS.  175 

To  which  O'Brallaghan  replied,  that  the  circumstance  in  ques 
tion  would  not  prevent  Mr.  Jinks'  using  the  weapon. 

A  pause  followed  these  words,  broken  in  a  moment,  however, 
by  Mr.  Jinks,  who  stated  that  Mr.  O'Brallaghan  was  a  caitiff. 

O'Brallaghan,  growing  very  red  in  the  face,  observed  that  Mr. 
Jinks  owed  his  paternity  to  a  "gun." 

Jinks,  becoming  enraged  thereupon,  drew  his  sword,  and  de 
clared  his  immediate  intention  of  ridding  the  earth  of  a  scoundrel 
and  a  villain. 

Which  intention,  however,  was  not  then  carried  into  execu 
tion,  owing  to  the  timely  arrival  of  a  red-faced,  though  rather 
handsome  Irish  lady  of  twenty-five  or  thirty,  who,  in  the  broad 
est  Celtic,  commanded  the  peace,  and  threatened  the  combatants 
with  a  hot  flat-iron,  which  she  brandished  in  her  stalwart  fist. 

O'Brallaghan  laid  clown  the  stick  which  he  had  seized,  and 
ogled  the  lady,  declaring  in  words  that  the  wish  of  mistress 
O'Callighan  was  law  to  him,  and  that  further,  he  had  no  desire 
to  fight  with  the  individual  before  him,  who  had  been  making  use 
of  abusive  and  threatening  language,  and  had  even  drawn  his 
skewer. 

Jinks  stated  that  he  would  have  no  more  altercation  with  an 
individual  of  Mr.  O'Brallaghan' s  standing  in  society — he  would 
not  demean  himself — and  from  that  moment  shook  the  dust  of  his, 
O'Brallaghan' s,  establishment  from  his,  Jinks',  feet.  Which  de 
claration  was  accompanied  with  a  savage  kick  upon  the  door. 

O'Brallaghan  congratulated  himself  upon  the  extreme  good 
fortune  for  himself  involved  in  Mr.  Jinks'  decision,  and  hoped 
he  would  carefully  observe  the  friendly  and  considerate  advice  he 
now  gave  him,  which  was,  never  to  show  his  nose  in  the  shop 
again  during  the  period  of  his  mundane  existence. 

Whereupon  Jinks,  annihilating  his  adversary  with  a  terrific 
frown,  stated  his  intention  to  implicitly  observe  the  counsel  given 
him,  and  further,  to  have  revenge. 

In  which  O'Brallaghan  cheerfully  acquiesced,  observing  that 


176  INTERCHANGE   OF   COMPLIMENTS. 

the  importance  attached  by  himself  to  the  threats  of  Mr.  Jinks 
was  exactly  commensurate  with  the  terror  which  would  be  caused 
him  by  the  kick  of  a  flea. 

And  so,  with  mutual  and  terrible  frowns,  this  alarming  inter 
view  terminated  :  Mr.  Jinks  grimacing  as  he  departed  with  awful 
menace,  and  getting  his  grasshopper  legs  entangled  in  his  sword  ; 
Mr.  O'Brallaghan  remaining  behind,  though  not  behind  the 
counter,  paying  devoted  attention  to  the  ruddy  and  handsome 
lady  with  the  hot  flat-iron,  Mistress  Judith  O'Callighan,  who 
watched  the  retreating  Jinks  with  tender  melancholy. 


CHAPTER    XXX. 

WHAT    OCCURRED    AT    BOUSCIl's    TAVERN. 

LET  us  follow  Mr.  Jinks. 

That  gentleman  went  on  his  way,  reflecting  upon  the  step  which 
he  had  just  taken,  and  revolving  in  his  mind  the  course  which  he 
should  pursue  in  future. 

The  result  of  his  reflections  was,  that  a  matrimonial  engage 
ment  would 'just  answer  his  purpose,  especially  with  a  lady  pos 
sessing  a  "  small  property — "  at  which  words,  as  they  left  his 
muttering  lips,  Jinks  frowned. 

It  was  Miss  Sallianna's  favorite  phrase. 

Miss  Sallianna ! 

The  tumult  which  arose  in  Jinks'  breast  upon  the  thought  of 
that  young  lady's  treachery  toward  himself  occurred  to  him, 
may,  as  our  brother  historians  are  fond  of  saying,  "be  better 
imagined  than  described."  Before,  Jinks'  brows  were  corrugated 
into  a  frown ;  now,  however,  two  mountain  ridges,  enclosing  a 
deep  valley,  extended  from  the  upper  portion  of  the  bridge  of  the 
Jinks  nose  to  the  middle  of  the  Jinks  forehead. 

The  despairing  lover  resembled  an  ogre  who  had  not  dined  for 
two  whole  days,  and  was  ready  to  devour  the  first  comer. 

What  should  he  do  ?  Take  revenge,  or  marry  the  perfidious 
woman  ?  Jinks  did  not  doubt  his  ability  to  perform  the  latter  ; 
and  thus  he  went  on  his  way  in  doubt  and  wrath. 

At  least  he  would  go  that  very  morning  and  charge  her  with 

8 


178  WHAT   OCCURRED   AT   BOUSCIl's   TAVERN. 

perfidy ;  and  so  having  decided  upon  his  course  so  far,  he  strode 
on  rapidly. 

Mr.  Jinks  bent  his  course  toward  Bousch's  tavern,  where  he 
proposed  to  take  up  his  temporary  residence. 

Since  this  house  has  become  historical,  let  us  say  a  word  of  it. 
It  was  one  of  those  old  wooden  "  ordinaries"  of  Virginia,  which 
are  now  never  seen  in  towns  of  any  size,  crouching  only  on  the 
road-side  or  in  obscure  nooks,  where  the  past  lives  still.  It  was 
a  building  of  large  size,  though  but  two  stories  in  height,  and 
even  then  presented  an  ancient  appearance,  Avith  its  low  eaves, 
small-paned  Avindows,  and  stone  slab  before  the  door.  Behind 
it  was  an  old  garden,  and  near  at  hand,  two  ponderous  valves 
opened  upon  a  large  stable -yard  full  of  bustling  hostlers. 

The  neighborhood  in  which  this  ancient  dwelling  stood  Avas  not 
without  a  certain  picturesquencss,  thanks  to  the  old,  low-eaAred 
houses,  dating  from  the  French-Indian  Avars,  and  grassy  knolls, 
1'rom  which  quarries  of  limestone  stood  out  boldly  ;  above  all, 
because  of  the  limpid  stream,  which,  flowing  from  the  Avest  just 
by  the  portico  of  the  old  tavern,  murmured  gaily  in  the  traveller's 
ear,  and  leaped  toward  him  as  he  crossed  it,  or  allowed  his  Aveary 
animal  to  bathe  his  nostrils  in  the  cool  water.  Two  or  three 
majestic  weeping-Avillows  plunged  their  broad  trunks  and  vigo 
rous  roots  into  the  clear  stream,  and  sighed  forever  over  it,  as, 
passing  onward,  it  ran  aAvay  from  the  Bousch  hostelry  toward  its 
ocean,  the  Opequon. 

This  old  tavern,  which  exists  still,  AVC  belieA~e,  a  A'enerable  relic 
of  the  border  past,  was,  in  the  year  1777,  the  abode  of  a  "  number 
of  Quakers,  together  with  one  druggist  and  a  dancing-master, 
eent  to  Winchester  under  guard,  with  a  request  from  the  Exe 
cutive  of  Pennsylvania,  directed  to  the  County- Lieutenant  of 
Frederick,  to  secure  them."  The  reasons  for  this  arrest  and 
exile  may  be  found  in  a  Congressional  report  upon  the  subject, 
(Anno.  1776,)  which  states,  that  well-attested  facts  ';  rendered 
it  certain  and  notorious  that  those  persons  Avere,  Avith  much 


WHAT   OCCUKKED   AT   BOUSCH'S   TAVERN.  179 

rancour  and  bitterness,  disaffected  to  the  American  cause  ;" — for 
which  reason  they  were  requested  to  go  arid  remain  in  durance 
at  Winchester,  in  Virginia.  How  they  protested  at  Philadelphia 
against  being  taken  into  custody — protested  again  at  the  Penn 
sylvania  line  against  being  carried  out  of  that  state — protested 
again  at  the  Maryland  line  against  being  taken  into  Virginia — 
and  ended  by  protesting  at  Winchester  against  everything  in 
general — it  is  all  written  in  the  Book  of  the  Chronicles  of  the 
Valley  of  Virginia,  by  Mr.  Samuel  Kercheval,  and  also  in  an 
interesting  Philadelphia  publication,  "  Friends  in  Exile."  To  this 
day  the  old  sun-dial  in  the  garden  of  "  Bousch's  Tavern"  has 
upon  it  the  inscription  : 

" Exul  patria  causa  libertates"  with  the  names  of  the  unfortu 
nate  exiles  written  under  it — always  provided  that  the  dial  itself 
remains,  and  the  rain,  and  snow,  and  sun,  have  not  blotted  out 
the  words.  That  they  were  there,  the  present  chronicler  knows 
upon  good  authority.  How  the  exiles  passed  their  time  at  Win 
chester,  and  finally  returned,  will,  some  day,  be  embodied  in 
authentic  history. 

It  was  many  years  after  the  quaker  inroad;  in  fact  the 
eighteenth  century,  with  all  its  philosophical,  political,  and  scien 
tific  "  protests"  everywhere,  was  nearly  dead  and  gone,  when 
another  scene  occurred  at  Bousch's  tavern,  which  history  knows 
something  of.  As  that  august  muse,  however,  does  not  bury 
herself  with  personal  details,  we  will  briefly  refer  to  this  occur 
rence. 

It  was  about  mid-day,  then,  when  a  carriage,  with  travelling 
trunks  behind  it,  and  a  white,  foreign- looking  driver  and  foot 
man  on  the  seat  before,  drew  rein  in  front  of  the  old  hostelry  we 
have  described. 

The  footman  descended  from  his  perch,  and  approaching  the 
door  of  the  carriage,  opened  it,  and  respectfully  assisted  two 
gentlemen  to  alight.  These  gentlemen  were  dressed  with  elegant 
simplicity. 


180  WHAT   OCCURRED   AT   BOUSCH'S  TAVERN. 

The  first  had  an  oval  face,  which  was  full  of  good-humor,  and 
in  which  an  imaginative  eye  might  have  discerned  an  odd  resem 
blance  to  a  pear ;  the  second,  who  seemed  to  be  his  brother,  was 
more  sedate,  and  did  not  smile. 

The  gentlemen  entered  the  inn,  and  asked  if  dinner  could  be 
furnished.  The  landlord  replied  that  nothing  could  be  easier, 
and  called  their  attention  to  a  noise  which  issued  from  the  next 
room. 

The  elder  gentleman,  whose  accent  had  indicated  his  foreign 
origin,  approached  the  door  which  led  into  the  dining-room,  fol 
lowed  by  his  companion. 

They  looked  in. 

A  long  table,  covered  with  a  profusion  of  everything  which 
the  most  robust  appetite  could  desire,  was  filled  with  ploughmen, 
rough  farmers,  hunters  from  the  neighboring  hills,  and  a  nonde 
script  class,  which  were  neither  farmers,  ploughmen,  nor  hunters, 
but  made  their  living  by  conveying  huge  teams  from  town  to 
town.  They  were  travelling  merchants — not  wagoners  simply,  as 
might  have  been  supposed  from  their  garments  full  of  straw,  and 
the  huge  whips  which  lay  beside  them  on  the  floor.  When  they 
chewed  their  food,  these  worthies  resembled  horses  masticat 
ing  ears  of  com ;  when  they  laughed,  they  made  the  windows 
rattle. 

The  good-humored  traveller  shook  his  head ;  over  the  face  of 
his  companion  passed  a  disdainful  smile,  which  did  not  escape 
the  landlord. 

As  the  elder  turned  round,  he  observed  his  servant  inscribing 
their  names  in  the  tavern-book.  He  would  have  stopped  him, 
but  he  had  already  written  the  names. 

He  thereupon  turned  to  the  landlord. 

Could  they  not  have  a  private  room  ? 

Hum  ! — it  was  contrary  to  rule. 

They  wanted  to  dine. 

Could  they  «ot  make  up  their  minds  to  join  the  company  t 


WHAT  OCCURRED  AT  BOUSCIl'S   TAVERN.  181 

The  younger  traveller  could  not,  and  would  not — a  room. 

The  landlord  assumed  a  dogged  expression,  and  replied  that  he 
made  no  distinction  among  his  guests.  What  was  good  enough 
for  one  was  good  enough  for  all. 

Then,  the  young  traveller  said,  he  would  not  stay  in  such  a 
place. 

The  host  replied,  that  he  might  go  and  welcome — the  sooner 
the  better — he  wanted  no  lofty  foreign  gentlemen  with  their  airs, 
etc. 

The  two  gentlemen  bowed  with  grave  politeness,  and  made  a 
sign  to  their  servants,  who  came  forward,  looking  with  terrible 
frowns  at  Boniface. 

Prepare  the  carriage  to  set  out  again — they  would  not  dine 
there. 

How  Monseigneur  would  go  on  in  spite  of • 

Enough — Monseigneur  would  consult  them  when  it  was  neces 
sary.  Harness  the  horses  again. 

The  result  of  which  command  was,  that  in  ten  minutes  the  two 
gentlemen  were  again  upon  the  road. 

The  landlord  watched  them,  with  a  frown,  as  they  departed. 
He  then  bethought  him  of  the  book  where  the  servant  had  in 
scribed  their  names,  and  opened  it.  On  the  page  was  written : 

•  "MR.  Louis  PHILLIPPE, 
"MB.  MONTPENSIER, 

PARIS." 

The  landlord  had  driven  from  his  establishment  the  future 
king  of  the  French,  and  his  brother,  because  they  wanted  a  pri 
vate  apartment  to  dine  in. 

The  common  version  that  the  Duke  was  personally  assaulted, 
and  turned  out,  is  a  mere  fiction — our  own  account  is  the  proper 
and  true  one. 

So  Bousch's  Tavern  was  only  fated  to  be  historical,  when  Mr. 
Jinks  approached  it — that  character  having  not  yet  been  attached 


182  WHAT  OCCURRED   AT  BOUSCH'S  TAVERN. 

to  it.  Whether  the  absence  of  such  associations  affected  the 
larder  in  Mr.  Jinks'  opinion,  we  cannot  say — probably  not,  how 
ever. 

Certain  is  it  that  Jinks  entered  with  dignity,  and  accosted  the 
fat,  ruddy,  German  landlord,  Mr.  Bousch,  and  proceeding  to  do 
what  a  quarter  of  a  century  afterwards  a  Duke  imitated  him  in, 
asked  for  a  private  chamber.  Mr.  Bousch  seemed  to  see  noth 
ing  improper  in  this  request,  and  even  smiled  an  assent  when 
Jinks,  still  scowling,  requested  that  a  measure  of  Jamaica  rum 
might  be  dispatched  before  him,  to  his  chamber. 

Jinks  then  strolled  out  to  the  pathway  before  the  tavern,  and 
looked  around  him. 

Suddenly  there  came  out  of  the  stable  yard  a  young  man, 
mounted  on  a  shaggy  horse,  which  young  man  was  clad  in  a  forest 
costume,  and  held  a  rifle  in  his  hand. 

Jinks  directed  a  terrible  glance  toward  him,  and  started  for 
ward. 

As  the  horseman  came  out  of  the  gateway,  he  found  the  road 
obstructed  by  Mr.  Jinks,  whose  drawn  sword  was  in  his  hand. 

"  Back !  rash  youth !"  cried  Jinks,  with  terrible  emphasis, 
"  or  this  sword  shall  split  thy  carcass — back  !" 

And  the  speaker  flashed  the  sword  so  near  to  Cloud's  eyes  that 
he  tossed  up  his  head  and  nearly  reared. 

Verty  had  been  gazing  at  the  sky,  and  was  scarcely  conscious 
of  Mr.  Jinks'  presence  ; — but  the  movement  made  by  Cloud 
aroused  him.  He  looked  at  the  sword  wonderingly. 

"  Stand  back !"  cried  Jinks,  "  or  thou  art  dead,  young  man  ! 
Turn  your  horse  into  that  receptacle  of  animals  again,  and  go 
not  toward  the  Bower  of  Nature !" 

"  An  an  ?"  said  the  young  man,  calmly. 

"So  you  pretend  not  to  understand,  do  you!  Vile  caitiff! 
advance  one  step  at  your  peril — try  to  go  and  complete  arrange 
ments  for  a  matrimonial  engagement  at  the  Bower  of  Nature,  and 
thou  diest !" 


WHAT   OCCURRED    AT   BOUSCH  S   TAVERN.  183 

Verty  was  getting  angry. 

"  Mr.  Jinks,  you'd  better  get  out  of  the  way,"  he  said,  calmly. 

"  Never  !  stand  back  !  Attempt  to  push  your  animal  toward 
me,  and  I  slaughter  him.  Base  caitiff!  Know  that  the  rival 
you  have  yonder  is  myself!  Know  that  she  loves  you  not,  and 
is  now  laughing  at  you,  however  much  she  may  have  made  you 
believe  she  loved  you  !  She  is  a  wretch  !" 

Verty  thought  Mr.  Jinks  spoke  of  Redbud — the  dominant  idea 
again — and  frowned. 

"  Yes  !  a  perfidious,  unfeeling  traitoress,"  observed  Mr.  Jink?, 
grimacing  terribly  ;  "  and  if  thou  makest  a  single  step  toward  her, 
I  will  spit  thee  on  my  sword  !" 

Verty  cocked  his  rifle,  and  placing  the  muzzle  thereof  on  tho 
Jinks'  breast,  made  a  silent  movement  of  his  head,  to  the  effect, 
that  Mr.  Jinks  would  consult  his  personal  safety  by  ceasing  to 
obstruct  the  way. 

Jinks  no  sooner  heard  the  click  of  the  trigger,  and  saw  the 
murderous  muzzle  directed  towards  his  breast,  than  letting  his 
sword  fall,  he  started  back  with  a  horrified  expression,  crying, 
"  murder  !"  with  all  the  strength  of  his  lungs  ;  and  even  in  his 
terror  and  excitement  varied  this  expression  by  giving  the  alarm 
of  "  fire !" — for  what  reason,  he  always  declined  to  explain,  even 
to  his  most  intimate  friends. 

Verty  did  not  even  smile,  though  he  remained  for  a  moment 
motionless,  looking  at  Mr.  Jinks. 

Then  touching  Cloud  with  his  heel,  he  set  forward  again,  fol 
lowed  by  the  dignified  Longears.  As  for  Longears,  we  regret  to 
say,  that,  on  the  occasion  in  question,  he  did  not  comport  him 
self  with  that  high  decorum  and  stately  courtesy  which  were 
such  distinguishing  traits  in  his  elevated  character.  His  mouth 
slowly  opene.1 — his  lips  curled  around  his  long,  white  teeth,  and 
his  visage  was  shaken  with  a  nervous  tremor,  as,  looking  over 
his  shoulder,  he  went  on  in  Cloud's  footsteps.  Longears  was 
laughing — positively  laughing — at  Mr.  Jinks. 


184  WHAT  OCCURRED  AT  BOUSCIl's  TAVERN. 

That  gentleman  ceased  crying  "fire!"  and  "murder!"  as 
soon  as  he  came  to  the  conclusion  that  there  was  no  danger  from 
the  one  or  the  other.  He  picked  up  his  sword,  looked  around 
him  cautiously,  and  seeing  that  no  one  had  observed  his  flight, 
immediately  assumed  his  habitual  air  of  warlike  dignity,  and  ex 
tended  his  hand — which  held  the  hilt  of  his  undrawn  sword — 
toward  Verty.  This  gesture  was  so  tragic,  and  replete  with  such 
kingly  ferocity,  that  Mr.  Jinks  was  plainly  devoting  Verty  to  the 
infernal  gods  ;  and  the  curses  trembling  on  his  lips  confirmed 
this  idea. 

He  was  standing  in  this  melo-dramatic  attitude,  gazing  after 
the  Indian,  when  he  felt  a  hand  upon  his  shoulder,  and  heard  a 
jovial  voice  say,  "  How  are  you,  Jinks,  my  boy  !  What's  the 
fun?" 

The  voice  was  that  of  Mr.  Ralph  Ashley. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

MR.  JINKS  ON  HORSE-BACK,  GOING  TO  TAKE  REVENGE. 

JINKS  remained  silent  a  moment.  Standing  face  to  face,  the 
two  personages  surveyed  each  other  in  silence — the  one  laughing, 
joyous,  ready  for  any  amusement  which  would  be  so  obliging  as 
to  turn  up  ;  the  other  stately,  warlike,  and  breathing  terrible  and 
malignant  vengeance. 

Ralph  laughed. 

"  I  say,  old  fellow,  what's  the  matter  f  he  asked ;  "you  look 
decidedly  blood-thirsty." 

"  I  am,  sir  !" 

"  By  Jove  !  I  don't  doubt  it :  you  resemble  Achilles,  when  he 
and  Agamemnon  had  their  miff.  What's  the  odds  I" 

"  I  have  been  insulted,  sir  !" 

"Insulted?" 

"And  tricked!" 

"  Impossible." 

Jinks  remained  silent  for  a  moment,  looking  after  Verty. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  with  an  awful  scowl,  "  that  young  man  has 
robbed  me  of  my  mistress — " 

«  Who— Verty  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

Ralph  burst  out  laughing. 

"  What  are  you  laughing  at  ?"  asked  Jinks,  with  dignity. 

"  At  your  falling  in  love  with  Redbud  Summers." 

"  I  am  not,  sir;  perhaps  in  light  moments  I  may  have  made 

8* 


186  MR.   JINKS  GOING  TO   TAKE  REVENGE. 

that  youthful  damsel  a  few  gallant  speeches ;  but  I  did  not  refer 
to  her,  sir." 

"  To  whom,  then  ?" 

"  To  the  perfidious  Sallianna." 

"  Oh  !"  cried  Ralph,  restraining  his  laughter  by  a  powerful 
effort. 

"  What  surprises  you,  sir  ?" 

"  Nothing." 

"  You  laugh." 

"  Can't  help  it.  The  idea  of  your  thinking  Verty  your  rival 
in  the  affections  of  Miss  Sallianna!  Jinks,  my  boy,  you  are 
blinded  with  love — open  your  eyes,  and  don't  think  you  can  see 
while  they  are  closed,  I  tell  you,  Verty  is  in  love  with  Redbud 
— I  know  it,  sir.  Or,  if  he  is  not  with  Kedbud,  it's  Fanny.  No, 
I  don't  think  it  is  Fanny,"  murmured  Ralph,  with  a  thoughtful 
expression  ;  "I  think  I'm  safe  there.  A  dangerous  rival !" 

And  Ralph  smiled  at  his  own  thoughts. 

"What  did  you  say,  sir  ?"  asked  Jinks,  frowning  in  the  direction 
of  the  Bower  of  Nature. 

"  Nothing,  my  boy ;  but  I  say,  Jinks,  what  makes  you  look  so 
fierce?  You  resemble  an  ogre — you're  not  going  to  eat  Mr. 
Verty  V 

"  No,  sir  ;  but  I'm  going  to  call  him  to  account.  If  he  is  not 
my  rival,  he  has  stood  in  my  way." 

"How?" 

"  The  perfidious  Sallianna  has  fallen  in  love  with  him  !" 

And  Jinks  groaned. 

Ralph  took  his  arm  with  a  sympathizing  expression,  and  re 
straining  a  violent  burst  of  laughter,  said : 

"  Is  it  possible !  But  I  knew  something  must  have  happened 
to  make  you  so  angry." 

"  Say  furious !" 

"  Are  you  furious  ?" 

"Yes,  sir!" 


MR.  JINKS   GOING  TO  TAKE   REVENGE.  187 

"  Come,  now,   I'll   bet  a  pistole    to    a   penny  that   you   aro 
revengeful  in  your  present  feelings. 

"  I  am,  sir  !" 

"What  can  you  do?" 

"  I  can  defy  my  enemy." 

..    "  Oh,  yes !  I  really  forgot  that ;  I  must  be  present,  recollect, 
at  the  encounter." 

"  You  may,  sir  !  I  shall  spit  him  upon  my  sword  !" 

And  Jinks,  with  a  terrible  gesture,  transfixed  imaginary  ene 
mies  against  the  atmosphere. 

Ralph  choked  as  he  gazed  at  Mr.  Jinks,   and  shaking  with 
pent  up  laughter : 

"  Can't  you  find  something,  Jinks,  for  me  to  do?"  he  said,  "  this 
affair  promises  to  be  interesting." 

Y  ou  may  carry  the  challenge  I  propose  writing,  if  you  will, 


sir. 
" 


If  I  will  !  as  if  I  would  not  do  ten  times  as  much  for  my  dear 
friend  Jinks." 

"Thanks,  sir." 

"  Promise  me  one  thing,  however." 

1  i  What  is  it,  sir?" 

"  To  be  cool." 

"  I  am  cool  —  I'll  throttle  her  !" 

"  Throttle  !" 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  annihilate  her  !" 

"Pier!" 

"  Yes,  the  treacherous  Sallianna.  She  has  made  me  wretched 
forever  —  lacerated  my  existence,  and  I  am  furious,  sir  ;  I  do  not 
deny  it." 

"  Furious  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  furious,  and  I  have  reason  to  te,  sir.  I  am  fero 
cious,  sir  ;  I  am  overwhelmed  with  rage  !" 

And  Jinks  ground  his  teeth. 

"  What,  at  a  woman  1" 


188  MR.   JINKS   GOING   TO   TAKE   REVENGE. 

"  At  a  perfidious  woman." 

"  Fie,  Jinks !"  is  it  credible  that  a  man  of  your  sense  should 
pay  the  sex  so  high  a  compliment'?" 

This  view  seemed  to  strike  Mr.  Jinks,  and  clearing  his  throat: 
"  Hum — ah — well,"  he  said,   "  the  fact  is,  sir,    my  feeling  is 
rather   one   of  contempt  than   anger.      But    other   things  have 
occurred  this  morning  to  worry  me." 

"  What?" 

Jinks  circumstantially  detailed  his  interview  with  O'Brallaghan, 
addin^  the  somewhat  imaginary  incident  of  the  loss  of  O'Bral- 
laghan's  left  ear  by  a  sweep  of  his,  Jinks',  sword. 

"  What !  you  cut  off  his  ear  !"  cried  Ralph. 

"Yes,  sir,"  replied  Mr.  Jinks,  "close  tojlie  caitiff's  head  !" 

"  Jinks  !  I  admire  you  !" 

"  It  was  nothing — nothing,  sir  !" 

"  Yes  it  was.  It  equals  the  most  splendid  achievements  of 
antiquity." 

And  Ralph  chuckled. 

"  He  deserved  it,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Jinks,  with  modest  dignity. 

«  Yes—you  had  your  revenge." 

"  I  will  have  more." 

"  Why,  are  you  not  satisfied  ?" 

"No!" 

"You  will  still  pursue  with  your  dreadful  enmity  the  un 
fortunate  O'Brallaghan  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir !" 

"Well,  I'll  assist  you." 

"  It  is  my  own  quarrel.  The  house  of  Jinks,  sir,  can  right  its 
own  wrongs." 

"  No  doubt ;  but  remember  one  circumstance.  I  myself  hate 
O'Brallaghan  with  undying  enmity." 

"How  is  that,  sir'?" 

"Can't  you  guess f 

"No." 


MR.    JINKS   GOING   TO   TAKE   REVENGE.  189 

*•  Why,  he  had  the  audacity  to  sell  my  plum- colored  coat  and 
and  the  rest  of  my  suit  to  this  Mr.  Verty." 

"  Oh—yes." 

"  Abominable  conduct!  only  because  I  did  not  call  at  the  very 
moment  to  try  on  the  suit.  He  would  '  make  me  another,'  for 
sooth,  i  in  the  twinkle  of  an  eye ;'  and  then  he  began  to  pour  out 
his  disagreeable  blarney.  Odious  fellow  !" 

And  Ralph  turned  aside  his  head  to  laugh. 

"  Leave  him  to  me,"  said  Mr.  Jinks,  arranging  his  sword  with 
grace  and  dignity  at  his  side  ;  "  if  you  wish  to  assist  me,  however, 
you  may,  sir.  Let  us  now  enter  this  tavern,  and  partake  of 
rum  and  crackers." 

"  By  all  means — there  is  just  time." 

"  How,  sir  ?"  asked  Mr.  Jinks,  as  they  moved  toward  the 
tavern. 

"  I  have  just  ordered  my  horse." 

"  To  ride  ?" 

"  Yes." 

Jinks  sighed. 

"  I  must  purchase  a  steed  myself,"  he  said. 

"  Yes  1"  rejoined  Ralph. 

"  Yes.     To  make  my  visit  to  the  perfidious  Sallianna." 

Ralph  laughed. 

"I  thought  you  had  abandoned  her?" 

"  Never  !" 

"  You  wish  to  go  and  see  her  f 

"  I  will  go  this  day  !" 

"  Good  !  take  half  of  my  horse." 

"  Half  f ' 

"  Ride  behind." 

"Hum!" 

"  Come,  my  dear  fellow,  don't  be  bashful.  He's  a  beautiful 
steed — look  there,  through  the  window." 

"  I  see  him — but  think  of  the  figure  we  would  cut," 


190  MR,   JINKS  GOING  TO  TAKE  REVENGE. 

"  Two  sons  of  Aymon!"  laughed  Ralph. 

"  I  understand :  of  Jupiter  Ammon,"  said  Jinks  ;  "  but  my  legs, 
sir — my  legs  ?" 

"  What  of  'cm  <?" 

"  They  require  stirrups." 

"  All  fancy — your  legs,  my  dear  Jinks,  are  charming.  I  con 
sider  them  the  chief  ornament  you  possess." 

"  Really,  you  begin  to  persuade  me,"  observed  Mr.  Jinks,  be 
coming  gradually  tractable  under  the  effect  of  the  rum  which  he 
had  been  sipping  for  some  minutes,  and  gazing  complacently  at  his 
grasshopper  continuations  in  their  scarlet  stockings. 

"  Of  course,"  Ralph  replied,  "so  let  us  set  out  at  once." 

"Yes,  yes  !  revenge  at  once  !" 

And  the  great  Jinks  wiped  his  mouth  with  the  back  of  his 
hands ; — brought  his  sword-belt  into  position,  and  assuming  a 
manner  of  mingled  dignity  and  ferocity,  issued  forth  with  Ralph. 

The  latter  gentleman,  laughing  guardedly,  mounted  into  the 
saddle,  and  then  rode  to  the  spot  at  which  Jinks  awaited  him. 

"  Come,"  he  said,  "  there's  no  time  to  be  lost ; — recollect,  your 
rival  has  gone  before  !" 

The  thought  inspired  Mr.  Jinks  with  supernatural  activity,  and 
making  a  leap,  he  lit,  so  to  speak,  behind  Ralph,  much  after  the 
fashion  of  a  monkey  falling  on  the  bough  of  a  cocoanut  tree. 

The  leap,  however,  had  been  somewhat  too  vigorous,  and  Mr. 
Jinks  found  one  of  his  grasshopper  legs  under  the  animal ;  while 
the  other  extended  itself  at  right-angles,  in  a  horizontal  position, 
to  the  astonishment  of  the  hostler  standing  by. 

"All  right !"  cried  Ralph,  with  a  roar  of  laughter. 

And  setting  spur  to  the  terrified  animal,  he  darted  from  the 
door,  followed  by  general  laughter  and  applause,  with  which  the 
clattering  of  Mr.  Jinks'  sword,  and  the  cries  he  uttered,  mingled 
pleasantly.  This  was  the  manner  in  which  Jinks  set  out  for 
revenge. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

AN   OLD  BIBLE. 

ON  the  morning  of  the  day  upon  which  the  events  we  have 
just  related  occurred,  little  Redbud  was  sitting  at  her  window, 
reading  by  the  red  light  of  sunrise. 

If  anything  is  beautiful  in  this  world,  assuredly  it  is  the  fresh, 
innocent  face  of  a  child,  flooded  with  the  deep  gold  of  sunrise, 
and  with  cheeks  still  bathed  in  the  delicate  rose-bloom  of 
slumber. 

Morning  and  childhood  go  together,  as  all  things  pure,  and 
fresh,  and  tender  do ;  and  in  the  face  of  the  child,  sitting  there  in 
the  quiet  morning,  an  imaginative  mind  might  have  discerned, 
without  difficulty,  more  than  one  point  of  resemblance.  The 
dews  sparkling  like  diamonds  on  the  emerald  grasses,  were  not 
brighter  or  fresher  than  her  eyes  ; — the  merry  breeze  might  have 
been  gayer,  but  had  not  half  as  much  thoughtful  joy  and  tender 
ness  as  her  gentle  laugh  ; — the  rosy  flush  of  morning,  with  all  its 
golden  splendor,  as  of  fair  Aurora  rising  to  her  throne,  was  not 
more  fair  than  the  delicate  cheek. 

In  a  single  word,  Miss  Redbud — about  whom  we  always  grow 
extravagant — was  a  worthy  portion  of  the  bright,  fresh  morning; 
and  the  hardest-hearted  individual  who  ever  laughed  at  child 
hood,  and  innocence  and  joy,  (arid  there  are  some,  God  help 
them,)  would  have  thought  the  place  and  time  more  cheerful  and 
inspiring  for  her  presence. 

Redbud  had  been  reading  from  a  book  which  lay  upon  the 


192  AN    OLD   BIBLE. 

window-sill.  The  idle  breeze  turned  over  the  leaves  carelessly, 
as  though,  like  a  child,  it  were  looking  for  pictures ;  and  the 
words,  "-From  dear  Mamma,"  were  seen  upon  the  fly-leaf — in 
the  rough  uncouth  characters  of  childhood. 

This  was  Redbud's  Bible — and  she  had  been  reading  it ;  and 
had  raised  her  happy  eyes  from  the  black  heavy  letters,  to  the 
waving  variegated  trees  and  the  bright  sunrise,  overwhelming 
them  with  its  flush  of  gold."  Eedbud  was  clad,  as  usual,  very 
simply — her  hair  brushed  back,  and  secured,  after  the  fashion  of 
the  time,  with  a  bow  of  ribbon — her  arms  bare  to  the  elbow, 
with  heavy  falling  sleeves — her  neck  surrounded  with  a  simple 
line  of  lace.  Around  her  neck  she  wore  the  coral  necklace  we 
have  seen  her  purchase. 

The  girl  gazed  for  some  moments  at  the  crimson  and  yellow 
trees,  on  which  a  murmurous  laughter  of  mocking  winds  arose, 
at  times,  and  rustled  on,  and  died  away  into  the  psithurisma  of 
Theocritus  ;  and  the  songs  of  the  oriole  and  mocking-bird  flut 
tering  among  the  ripe  fruit,  or  waving  up  into  the  sky,  brought  a 
pleasant  smile  to  her  lips.  The  lark,  too,  was  pouring  from  the 
clouds,  where  he  circled  and  flickered  like  a  ball  of  light,  the 
glory  of  his  song ;  and  from  an  old,  dead  oak,  which  raised  its 
straight  trunk  just  without  the  garden,  came  the  quick  rattle  of 
the  woodpecker's  bill,  or  the  scream  of  that  red-winged  drum 
mer,  as  he  darted  olF,  playing  and  screaming,  with  his  fellows. 

Beyond  the  garden  all  the  noble  autumn  forests  waved  away 
in  magic  splendor — red,  and  blue,  and  golden.  The  oaks  were 
beautiful  with  their  waving  leaves — the  little  alder  tree  exquisite 
in  its  faint  saffron — the  tall,  tapering  pines  rose  from  the  sur 
rounding  foliage  like  straight  spears,  which  had  caught  on  their 
summits  royal  robes  of  emerald  velvet,  green  at  first,  but,  when 
the  red  light  fell  upon  them,  turning  to  imperial  purple,  as  of  old, 
Emperors  of  Rome  ! 

All  these  sights  and  sounds  were  pleasant  things  to  Redbud, 
and  she  gazed  and  listened  to  them  with  a  species  of  tranquil 
pleasure,  which  made  her  tender  face  very  beautiful. 


AN   OLD   BIBLE.  193 

At  last  her  eyes  returned  to  her  old  Bible,  and  she  began  to 
read  again  from  the  sacred  book. 

She  turned  the  leaf,  and  came  to  a  passage  around  which  faint 
lines  were  traced  in  faded  ink ; — the  words  thus  marked  were 
those  of  St.  Paul,  so  sublime  in  their  simplicity,  so  grand  in  their 
quiet  majesty  : 

"  Having  a  desire  to  depart,  and  to  be  with  Christ." 

These  words  had  been  marked  by  Redbud's  mother,  and  as  the 
child  gazed  upon  the  faded  ink,  and  thought  of  the  dear  hand 
which  had  rested  upon  the  page,  a  tender  regret  betrayed  itself 
in  her  veiled  eyes,  and  her  lips  murmured,  wistfully,  "  Mamma." 
Her  down-cast  eyes  were  veiled  by  the  long  lashes  ;  and  the 
child's  thoughts  went  back  to  the  old  happy  days,  when  her  mo 
ther  had  taught  her  to  pray,  joining  her  infant  hands,  and  telling 
her  about  God  and  all  his  goodness. 

It  was  not  grief  which  the  child  felt,  as  her  mental  glance 
thus  went  backward  to  the  time  when  her  mother  was  alive ; — 
rather  a  tender  joy,  full  of  pure  love,  and  so  far  separated  from 
the  world,  or  the  things  of  the  world,  that  her  faee  grew  holy,  as 
if  a  light  from  heaven  streamed  upon  it.  Oh,  yes !  she  needed 
no  one  to  tell  her  that  her  dear  mother's  desire  had  been  fulfilled 
— that  she  was  with  Christ ;  and  her  heart  rose  in  prayer  to  the 
Giver  of  all  good,  to  bless  and  purify  her,  and  give  her  power  to 
conquer  all  her  evil  thoughts — and  passing  through  the  toils  and 
temptations  of  the  world,  come  finally  to  that  happy  land  where 
her  dear  mother  lived  and  loved — from  which  she  looked  upon 
her  child.  She  prayed  to  be  kept  thus  pure ;  for  strength  to  re 
sist  her  sinful  inclinations,  ill-temper,  discontent  and  uncharitable 
thoughts ;  for  power  to  divorce  her  thoughts  from  the  world, 
spite  of  its  sunshine,  and  bright  flowers  and  attractions — to  feel 
that  holy  desire  to  be  with  the  de^r  Savior  who  had  died  for 
her. 

The  child  rose  with  a  countenance  that  was  sacred  for  its 
purity,  and  hopefulness,  and  trust.  She  gazed  again  upon  the 


194  AN    OLD   BIBLE. 

brilliant  morning  land,  and  listened  to  the  birds,  and  smiled — for 
in  tlie  sunlight,  and  the  carol  of  the  bright-winged  oriole,  and 
every  murmur  of  the  merry  wind,  she  felt  the  presence  of  a  lov 
ing  and  All-merciful  Creator,  who  would  bless  her,  if  she  loved 
and  obeyed  Him. 

And  so  the  tender  eyes  again  beamed  with  the  unclouded  light 
of  childhood,  and  the  lips  were  again  calm  and  happy.  The 
child  had  sought  for  peace  and  joy  from  the  great  central  source, 
and  found  it.  Everything  was  now  delightful — all  the  clouds 
had  passed — and  a  bright  smile  illumined  her  fresh  face,  and 
made  the  sunlight  envious,  as  it  poured  its  fresh  golden  radiance 
upon  her  brow  and  cheek. 

lledbud  had  just  closed  her  Bible,  and  was  about  to  put  it 
away  upon  the  shelf,  when  a  light  step  was  heard  in  the  room, 
and  a  laughing  voice  cried,  "  Well,  miss  !"  and  two  white  arms 
encircled  her  neck,  two  red  lips  imprinted  a  kiss  upon  her  cheek. 

The  arms  and  the  lips  belonged  to  Fanny. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

FANNY'S  VIEWS  UPON  HERALDRY. 

FANNY  was  overflowing  with  laughter,  and  her  face  was  the 
perfection  of  glee.  Her  dark  eyes  fairly  danced,  and  the  profuse 
black  curls  which  rippled  around  her  face,  were  never  still  for  a 
moment. 

In  her  hand  Miss  Fanny  carried  a  wreath  of  primroses  and 
other  children  of  the  autumn,  which  spread  around  them  as  she 
came  a  faint  perfume.  From  the  appearance  of  the  young  lady's 
feet,  it  seemed  that  she  had  gathered  them  herself.  Her  shoes 
and  ankles,  with  their  white  stockings,  were  saturated  with  the 
dews  of  morning. 

After  imprinting  upon  Miss  Redbud's  cheek  the  kiss  which  we 
have  chronicled,  Fanny  gaily  raised  the  yellow  wreath,  and  de 
posited  it  upon  the  young  girl's  head. 

"  There,  Redbud !"  she  cried,  "  I  declare,  you  look  prettier 
than  ever !" 

Redbud  smiled,  with  an  affectionate  glance  at  her  friend. 

"  Oh  !"  cried  the  impulsive  Fanny,  "  there  you  are,  laughing 
at  me,  as  much  as  to  say  that  you  are  not  pretty !  Affected!" 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Redbud. 

"  Well,  I  don't  say  you  are." 

"I  don't  like  affectation." 

"Nor  I,"  said  Fanny;  "but  really,  Reddy,  I  had  no  idea 
that  yellow  was  so  becoming  to  you." 

"  Why  ?"  asked  Redbud,  smiling. 


196  FANNY'S  VIEWS  UPON  HERALDRY. 

"  You  are  blonde,  you  know." 

"  Well." 

"I  wonder  if  blonde  don't  mean  yellow,"  said  the  philosophic 
Fanny. 

"  Does  it  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  "What  then  ? 

"  Why,  of  course,  I  thought  yellow  primroses  would'nt  become 
you  ; — now  they  would  suit  me — I'm  so  dark." 

"  You  do  not  need  them." 

"  Fie— Miss  Flatterer." 

"  Oh,  no,  Fanny,  I  never  flatter." 

"Well,  I'm  glad  you  like  me,  then!"  cried  Fanny,  for  I  de 
clare  I'm  desperately  in  love  with  you,  Reddy.  Just  think,  now, 
how  much  flattered  Miss  Sallianna  would  have  been  if  I  had 
carried  these  flowers  to  her — you  know  she  loves  the  '  beauties 
of  nature.'  " 

And  Miss  Fanny  assumed  a  languishing  air,  and  inclining  her 
head  upon  one  shoulder,  raised  her  eyes  lackadaisically  toward 
the  ceiling,  in  imitation  of  Miss  Sallianna. 

"  No,  Fanny  !"  said  Redbud,  "  that  is  not  right." 

"What?" 

"  Mimicking  Miss  Sallianna." 

"  Not  right !" 

"  No,  indeed. 

"  Well,  I  suppose  it  is  not,  and  I  have  been  treating  her  very 
badly.  Suppose  I  take  your^  wreath  of  yellow  primroses  and 
carry  them  to  her." 

"  Oh,  yes — if  you  want  to,"  said  Redbud,  looking  regretfully 
at  the  wreath,' which  she  had  taken  from  her  brow. 

Fanny  laughed. 

"  No,  I  will  not,"  she  said  ;  "  I  have  a  good  reason." 

"What?" 

"  The  axiom  in  heraldry." 


FANNY'S  VIEWS  UPON  HERALDRY.  197 

"  What  axiom  ?" 

"  Never  put  color  upon  color — yellow  upon  yellow  in  this 
instance  !" 

And  Miss  Fanny  burst  into  laughter,  and  fairly  shook  with 
glee. 

Eedbud  gave  her  a  little  reproachful  glance,  which  showed 
Fanny  the  uncharitable  nature  of  her  observation. 

"  Well,"  said  the  owner  of  the  soiled  ankles,  "  I  ought  not  to 
have  said  that ;  but  really,  she  is  so  ridiculous  !  She  thinks  she's 
the  handsomest  person  in  the  world,  and  I  do  believe  she  wants 
to  rob  us  of  our  beaux." 

Redbud  smiled,  and  lightly  colored. 

"  I  mean  Verty  and  Ralph,"  Fanny  went  on,  "and  I  know 
something  is  going  on.  Miss  Sallianna  is  always  in  love  with 
somebody  ;  it  was  Mr.  Jinks  the  other  day,  and  now  I  think  it  is 
one  of  our  two  visitors." 

"  Oh,  Fanny !" 

"  Yes,  I  do  !  you  need'nt  look  so  incredulous — I  believe  she 
would  flirt  with  either  of  them,  and  make  love  to  them; 
which,"  added  the  philosophic  Fanny,  "  is  only  another  phrase 
for  the  same  thing." 

Redbud  remained  for  a  moment  confused,  and  avoiding 
Fanny's  glance.  Then  her  innocent  and  simple  smile  returned, 
and  leaning  her  arm  affectionately  upon  the  young  girl's  shoulder, 
she  said,  seriously  : 

"  Fanny,  please  don't  talk  in  that  way.  You  know  Verty  is 
not  an  ordinary  young  gentleman — " 

"  Oh,  no — !"  cried  Fanny,  laughing. 

"  I  mean,"  Redbud  went  on,  with  a  slight  color  in  her' cheek, 
"  I  mean,  to  amuse  himself  with  compliments  and  pretty  speeches 
— if  Miss  Sallianna  thinks  he  is,  she  is  mistaken." 

"  Odious  old  thing ! — to  be  flirting  with  all  the  young  men  who 
come  to  see  us  /"  said  Fanny. 

"  No,  no,"  Redbud  went  on,  "I  think  you  are  mistaken.    But 


198  FANNY'S  VIEWS  UPON  HEEALDHY. 

as  you   have   mentioned  Verty,  please   promise  me    one  tiling, 
Fanny." 

"  Promise !  certainly,  Reddy ;  just  ask  me  whatever  you 
choose.  If  it's  to  cut  off  my  head,  or  say  I  think  Miss  Sallianna 
pretty,  I'll  do  it — such  is  my  devotion  to  you  !"  laughed  Fanny. 

Redbud  smiled. 

"  Only  promise  me  to  amuse  Verty,  when  he  comes." 

"  Amuse  him  !" 

"  Yes." 

"  What  do  you  mean." 

"  I  mean,"  Redbud  said,  sighing,  "  that  I  don't  think  I  shall 
be  able  to  do  so." 

"  What !" 

"  Fanny,  you  cannot  understand,"  said  the  young  girl,  with  a 
slight  blush  ;  "I  hope,  if  you  are  my  real  friend,  as  you  say,  that 
you  will  talk  with  Verty,  when  he  comes,  and  make  his  time 
pass  agreeably." 

Redbud's  head  sank. 

Fanny  gazed  at  her  for  a  moment  in  silence,  and  with  a  puz 
zled  expression,  said : 

"  What  has  happened,  Reddy,  between  you  and  Verty — any 
thing  ?" 

"Oh,  no." 

"  You  are  blushing  !     Something  must  have  happened." 

"  Fanny — "  murmured  Redbud,  and  then  stopped. 

"  Have  you  quarreled  ?  Yrou  would'nt  explain  that  scene  in 
the  parlor  the  other  day,  when  I  made  him  tie  my  shoe.  You 
have  quarreled  !" 

"  Oh,  no— no  !" 

"  I'm  glad  to  hear  it,  cried  Fanny,  "  though  I  could  easily 
have  made  it  up.  I  would  have  gone  to  Mr.  Verty,  and  told 
him  that  he  was  a  wretch,  or  something  of  that  sort,  and  made 
him  come  and  be  friends  again." 

Redbud  smiled,  and  said  : 


FANNY'S  VIKWS  UPON  HERALDRY.  199 

"  We  have  not  quarreled  ;  but  I  don't  think  I  shall  be  able  to 
amuse  him  very  much,  if  lie  comes  this  morning,  as  I  think  he 
will.  Please  promise  me — I  don't  like  Verty  to  be  unhappy." 

And  the  ingenuous  face  of  the  young  girl  was  covered  with 
blushes. 

"  I  suppose  not ! — you  and  Verty  are  very  good  friends!"  cried 
Fanny,  looking  out  of  the  window,  and  not  observing  Ked- 
bud's  confusion ;  "  but  suppose  my  cavalier  comes — what  then, 
madam  ?" 

"  Oh,  then  I  absolve  you." 

"  No,  indeed  !" 

"'No,  indeed'  what  f 

"  I  won't  be  absolved." 

«  Why  ?" 

"  Because  I  don't  know  but  I  prefer  Mr.  Verty  to  that  con- 
ceitcd  cousin  of  mine." 

"  What  cousin — not  Ralph f" 

"  Yes  ;  I  don't  fancy  him  much." 

"  I  thought  you  were  great  favorites  of  each  other." 

"  You  are  mistaken  !"  said  Fanny,  coloring  ;  "  I  did  like  him 
once,  but  he  has  coine  back  from  college  at  Williamsburg  a  perfect 
coxcomb,  the  most  conceited  fop  I  ever  saw." 

u  Oh,  Fanny  !" 

"  Yes,  indeed  he  has  !" 

And  Miss  Fanny  blushed. 

"  I  hate  him  !"  she  added,  with  a  pout ;  then  bursting  into  a 
fit  of  laughter,  this  young  lady  added  : 

"  Oh  !  he  promised  to  bring  his  album  to-day,  and  show  me 
all  the  'good  wishes'  his  friends  wrote  in  it  for  him.  Won't  that 
be  funny  !  Just  think  of  finding  out  how  those  odious  young 
college  geese  talk  and  feel  toward  each-  other." 

Kedbud  smiled  at  Miss  Fanny's  consistency,  and  was  about  to 
reply,  when  the  bell  for  prayers  rang. 

The   two  young  girls  rose,  and  smoothing  their  hair  slowly, 


200 


descended,  arm  in  arm,  and  still  conversing,  to  the  dining-room, 
where  old  Scowley,  as  Vcrty  called  her,  and  Miss  Sallianna, 
awaited  them,  in  state,  with  their  scholars. 

Prayer  was  succeeded  by  breakfast;  and  then — the  young 
damsels  having  eaten  with  the  most  unromantic  heartiness — the 
.whole  school  scattered  :  some  to  walk  toward  "  town ;"  others 
to  stroll  by  the  brook,  at  the  foot  of  the  hill ;  others  again  to 
write  letters  home. 

As  Miss  Sallianna  had  informed  Verty,  that  day  was  a  holiday,  . 
and  young  ladies  going  to  school  have,  in  all  ages  of  the  world, 
appreciated  the  beauties  and  attractions  of  this  word,  and  what 
it  represents — recreation,  that  is  to  say. 

Redbud  and  Fanny  strolled  out  in  the  garden  with  their  arms 
locked  as  before,  and  the  merry  autumn  sunshine  streaming  on 
them. 

They  had  a  thousand  things  to  talk  about,  and  we  may  be 
sure  that  they  did  not  neglect  the  opportunity.  What  do  not 
young  ladies  at  school  discuss  1  Scarcely  anything  escapes,  and 
these  criticisms  are  often  very  trenchant  and  severe. 

How  they  criticise  the  matrimonial  alliance  between  aged 
Dives  with  his  crutch  and  money-bags,  and  the  fascinating  and 
artless  Miss  Sans  Avoir,  who  dedicates  her  life  to  making  happy 
the  old  gentleman ! 

How  gaily  do  they  pull  in  pieces  the  beautiful  natural  curls 
of  Mr.  Adonis,  who  purchased  them  at  the  perruquier's  ;  and 
how  they  scalp  Miss  Summer  Morning,  with  her  smiles  and  bright- 
eyed  kindness,  in  the  presence  of  gentlemen — while  behind  the 
scenes  she  is  a  mixture  of  the  tigress  and  the  asp!  All  these  so 
cial  anomalies  do  young  ladies  at  school  talk  about — as  do  those 
who  have  left  school  also. 

lint  Kedlmd  and  Fanny  did  not — they  were  far  too  good- 
natured  to  take  pleasure  in  such  comments,  and  instead,  spent 
the  hours  in  laughing,  playing  and  reading  in  the  pleasant  arbor. 
Thus  the  morning  drew  on,  and  the  lovely  autumn  day  sailed 


FANNY'S  VIEWS  UPON  HERALDRY.  201 

past  with  all  its  life  and  splendor  toward  the  west.  Fanny  was 
gazing  toward  the  house,  as  they  thus  sat  in  the  arbor,  and  Red- 
bud  was  smiling,  when  a  gentleman,  clothed  in  a  forest  costume, 
and  carrying  a  rifle,  made  his  appearance  at  the  door  of  the 
Bower  of  Nature. 

"  Oh,  Beddy!"  cried  Fanny,  "there's  your  friend,  Verty ;  and 
look  what  a  fright  he  is  !" 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

HOW   MISS    SALLIANNA   ALLUDED   TO   VIPERS,  AND    FELL   INTO 
HYSTERICS. 

VERTY  paused  upon  the  threshold  of  the  mansion  to  push  back 
his  long,  curling  hair ;  and  with  a  glance  behind  him,  toward 
Cloud,  meant  as  a  caution  to  that  intelligent  animal  and  to  Long- 
ears,  deposited  his  rifle  against  the  door. 

The  young  man,  as  we  have  said,  had  once  more  donned  his 
rude  forest  costume  ;  and  even  at  the  risk  of  appearing  to  under 
value  the  graces  and  attractions  of  civilization  with  the  costume, 
which  is  a  necessary  part  thereof,  we  must  .say  that  the  change 
was  an  improvement.  Verty's  figure,  in  the  dress  which  he  gen 
erally  wore,  was  full  of  picturesqueness  and  wild  interest.  He 
looked  like  a  youthful  Leather-stocking  ;  and  seemed  to  be  a  part 
of  the  forest  in  which  he  lived,  and  from  which  he  came. 

He  had  been  cramped  in  the  rich  clothes ;  and  the  conscious 
ness  of  this  feeling,  so  to  speak,  had  made  his  manner  stiff  and 
unnatural ;  now,  however,  he  was  forest  Verty  again.  His  long 
hair  had  already  become  tangled,  thanks  to  the  autumn  winds, 
and  the  gallop  to  which  he  had  pushed  Cloud ; — his  person  as 
sumed  its  habitual  attitude  of  wild  grace ;  his  eye  no  longer  rest 
less  and  troubled,  had  recovered  its  expression  of  dreamy  mobil 
ity,  and  his  lips  were  wreathed  with  the  odd  Indian  smile,  which 
just  allowed  the  ends  of  the  white  teeth  to  thread  them  ; — Verty 
was  himself  again. 

He  raided  his  head,  and  would  have  caught  sight  of  the  young 


MISS   SALLIANNA  FALLS  INTO  HYSTERICS.          203 

girls  in  the  garden,  but  for  a  circumstance  which  occurred  just  at 
that  moment. 

This  circumstance  was  the  appearance  of  Miss  Sallianna — 
Miss  Sallianna  arrayed  in  all  her  beauties  and  attractions,  includ 
ing  a  huge  breastpin,  a  dress  of  enormous  pattern,  and  a  scarf 
around  her  delicate  waist,  azure-hued  and  diaphanous  like  the  sky, 
veiled  with  an  imperceptible  cloud. 

The  lady  was  smiling  more  than  ever ;  her  air  was  more  lan 
guishing  ;  her  head  inclined  farther  to  one  side.  Such  was  her 
ecstacy  of  "  inward  contemplation,"  to  use  her  favorite  phrase, 
that  the  weight  of  thought  bent  down  her  yellow  eye-lashes  and 
clouded  her  languishing  eyes. 

She  raised  them,  however,  and  glancing  at  Verty,  started. 

"  Good-morning,  ma'am,"  said  Verty — "  Miss,  I  mean.  I  got 
your  letter." 

"  Good-morning,  sir,"  said  Miss  Sallianna,  with  some  stiffness; 
"  where  are  your  clothes?" 

Verty  stared  at  Miss  Sallianna  with  great  astonishment,  and 
said: 

"  My  clothes  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  These  are  my  clothes." 

And  Verty  touched  his  breast. 

"  No,  sir  !"  said  Miss  Sallianna. 

"  Not  mine  ?" 

"  They  may  be  yours,  sir ;  but  I  do  not  call  them  clothes — 
they  are  mere  covering." 

"  Anan  *"  said  Verty. 

"  They  are  barbarous." 

"How,  ma'am?" 

Miss  Sallianna  tossed  her  head. 

"It  is  not  proper  !"  she  said. 

"What,  ma'am?" 

"  Coming  to  see  a  lady  in  that  plight." 


204:          MISS  SALLIANNA  FALLS  INTO  HYSTEBICS. 

"  This  plight  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir !" 

"  Not  propor  f 

"  No,  sir !" 

"Why  not1?" 

"  Because,  sir,  when  a  gentleman  comes  to  pay  his  respects  to 
a  lady,  it  is  necessary  that  he  should  be  clad  in  a  manner,  con 
sistent  with  the  errand  upon  which  he  comes." 

"Anan,  ma'am?" 

"  Goodness  gracious  !"  cried  Miss  Sallianna,  forgetting  her 
attitudes,  and  vigorously  rubbing  her  nose ;  "  did  any  body  ever?" 

"  Ever  what,  ma'am  ?" 

"  Ever  see  a  person  so  hard  to  understand  as  you  are,  sir." 

"  I  don't  understand  long  words,"  said  Verty ;  "  and  you  know 
I  am  an  Indian." 

"  I  knew  you  were,  sir." 

Verty  shook  his  head,  and  smiling  dreamily : 

"  I  always  will  be  that,"  he  said. 

"  Then,  sir,  we  cannot  be  friends — " 

"  Why,  ma'am — I  mean,  Miss  ?" 

"  Because,  sir,  the  properties  of  civilization  require  a  mutual 
criterion  of  excellence — hem  !" 

"  Oh  yes,"  said  Verty,  very  doubtfully,  and  checking  by  an 
effort  his  eternal  exclamation  of  ignorance ;  "  but  I  thought  you 
liked  me." 

"I  do,  sir,"  said  Miss  Sallianna,  with  more  mildness — "I 
thought  we  should  be  friends." 

Verty  smiled. 

"  What  a  funny  letter  you  wrote  to  me,"  he  said. 

"  Funny,  sir  ?"  said  Miss  Sallianna,  blushing. 

"Very  pretty,  too." 

«  Oh,  sir !" 

"  But  I  did'nt  understand  more  than  half  of  it,"  said  Verty 
with  his  old  dreamy  smile. 


MISS  SALLIANNA  FALLS  INTO  HYSTERICS.          205 

"  Pray  why,  sir  ?" 

"  The  words  were  so  long." 

Miss  Sallianna  looked  gratified. 

"  They  were  expressive,  sir,  of  the  reciprocal  sensation  which 
beats  in  my  heart." 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  said  Verty. 

"  But  recollect,  sir,  that  this  sentiment  is  dependent  upon  ex 
terior  circumstances.  I  positively  cannot  receive  you  in  that 
savage  dress." 

"  Not  receive  me  1" 

"No,  sir." 

"  What's  the  matter  with  my  poor  dress  ?" 

"It's  abominable,  sir — oderous;  and  then  your  hair — " 

"  My  hair  ?"  said  Verty,  pulling  at  a  curl. 

"  Yes,  sir — it  is  preposterous,  sir.     Did  any  body  ever  !" 

And  Miss  Sallianna  carried  her  eyes  to  heaven. 

"  I  don't  know,"  Verty  said;  "  but  it  feels  better." 

"  It  may,  sir ;  but  you  must  cut  it  off  if  you  come  again." 

Verty  hesitated. 

"  I  thought — "  he  began. 

"Well,  sir?" 

"  I  was  thinking,"  said  the  young  man,  feeling  a  vague  idea 
that  he  was  going  wrong — "  I  thought  that  you  were  not  so  very 
particular,  as  you  are  only  a  school-mistress,  and  not  one  of  those 
fine  ladies  I  have  seen  riding  by  in  their  carriages.  They  might 
think  some  ceremony  needed — " 

"  Not  a — very  well,  sir — a  schoolmistress — only — indeed  F 
said  Miss  Sallianna,  with  dignity. 

Verty  was  too  little  acquainted  with  the  expression  of  concen 
trated  feeling  to  understand  these  words,  and  smiling, 

"  Then,"  he  said,  "there  was  another  reason — " 

"  For  what,  sir  f  said  Miss  Sallianna,  with  great  dignity. 

"  For  my  not  being  very  particular." 

"  Please  state  it,  sir." 


206          MISS  SALLIANNA  FALLS  INTO  HYSTEEICS. 
• 

"  Yes,  ma'am." 

The  lady  sniffed  with  indignation. 

"  I  meant,  said  Verty,  "  that  as  you  had  very  few  beaux  here 
— I  believe  you  call  'em  beaux — I  could  come  so.  I  know  that 
Mr.  Jinks  comes,  but  he  is  too  fierce  to  be  agreeable,  and  is  not 
very  nice,  I  should  think." 

Miss  Sallianna  darted  a  glance  of  scorn  at  the  unlucky  Verty, 
which  would  have  transfixed  that  gentleman ;  but  unfortunately 
he  did  not  see  it. 

"  Yes,"  he  went  on,  "  there  is  a  great  deal  of  difference,  Miss 
Sallianna,  between  coming  to  see  you,  who  are  only  a  school 
mistress,  and  hav'nt  much  fine  company,  and  the  rich  ladies  ; — 
then  you  know  I  thought  that  the  difference  between  our  ages — 
you  being  so  much  older  than  I  am,  about  thirty  or  thirty-five,  I 
suppose: — " 

The  cup  was  full. 

"  Mr.  Verty,"  gasped  Miss  Sallianna,  "  you  will  please  to  end 
our  interview  at  once,  sir  ! — this  language,  sir,  is  intolerated,  sir ! 
— if  you  wish  to  insult  me,  sir,  you  can  remain  ! — I  consider 
your  insinuations,  sir,  as  unworthy  of  a  gentleman.  The  viper  !" 
cried  Miss  Sallianna,  becoming  hysterical,  and  addressing  her 
observations  to  the  ceiling ;  "  the  viper  which  I  warmed  in  my 
bosom,  and  who  turns  and  rents  me." 

Which  was  very  ungallant  in  the  viper  not  to  say  extraordi 
nary,  as  it  implied  that  vipers  dwelt  in  houses  "  to  let." 

"  Who  beguiled  himself  into  this  resort  of  innocence,  and 
attacked  my  suspicious  nature — and  now  casts  reproaches  on  my 
station  in  society  and  my  youth  !" 

"  Oh,  ma'am  !"  cried  Verty. 

"  Don't  speak  to  me,  sir  !" 

"  No,  ma'am." 

"  Your  very  presence  is  deletrious." 

"  Oh,  Miss  Sallianna  !" 

«  Go  sir— go  !" 


MISS  SALLIANNA  FALLS  INTO  HYSTERICS.  207 

"  Yes,  ma'am — but  are  you  well  enough  f 

"  Yes,  sir !" 

"  Have  a  glass  of  water  ?" 

"No,  sir!" 

"  I'm  so  sorry  I  said  anything  to — " 

"  There  is  reason,  sir." 

"  You  don't  hate  me  ?" 

"No,    sir!"    said   Miss    Sallianna,    relenting,  and    growing 
gradually  calmer  ;  "  I  pity  and  forgive  you." 

"  Will  you  shake  hands  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir— I  am  forgiving,  sir — " 

"At  your  time  of  life  you  know,  ma'am,  we  ought'nt  to — " 

Unfortunate  Verty  ;  the  storm  which  was  subsiding  arose  again 
in  all  its  original  strength. 

"Leave  me!"  cried  Miss  Sallianna,  with  a  tragic  gesture, 

"  Yes,  ma'am — but — " 

"Mr.  Verty?" 

"Ma'am!" 

"  Your  presence  is  opprobrious." 

"  Oh,  Miss  Sallianna !" 

"  Yes,  -sir — intolerant." 

"  I'm  so  sorry." 

"Therefore,  sir,  go  and  leave  me  to  my  thoughts  again — go, 
sir,  and  make  merry  with  your  conjugal  companions !" 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  said  Verty ;  "  but  I  did'nt  mean  to  worry  you. 
Please  forgive  me — " 

"  Go,  sir !" 

Verty  saw  that  this  tragic  gesture  indicated  a  determination 
which  could  not  be  disputed. 

He  therefore  put  on  his  hat,  and  having  now  caught  sight  of 

Fanny  and  Redbud,  bowed  to  his  companion,  and  went into 

the  garden. 

Miss  SaUianna  gasped,  and  sinking  into  a  chair,  fell  into  violent 
hysterics,  in  which  numerous  allusions  were,  made  to  vipers. 
Poor  Verty  ! 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

HOW   MISS    FANNY    MADE    MERRY    WITH   THE   PASSION    OF    MR. 
VERTY. 

VERTY  approached  the  two  young  girls  and  took  off  his  hat. 

"  Good  morning,  Redbud,"  he  said,  gently. 

Redbud  blushed  slightly,  but,  carried  back  to  the  old  days  by 
Verty's  forest  costume,  quickly  extended  her  hand,  and  forgetting 
Miss  Lavinia's  advice,  replied,  with  a  delightful  mixture  of  kind 
ness  and  tenderness : 

"  I'm  very  glad  to  see  you,  Verty." 

The  young  man's  face  became  radiant;  he  completely  lost 
sight  of  the  charge  against  the  young  lady  made  in  Miss  Salli- 
anna's  letter,  He  was  too  happy  to  ever  think  of  it ;  and  would 
have  stared  Redbud  out  of  countenance  for  very  joy  and  satisfac 
tion,  had  not  Miss  Fanny,  naturally  displeased  at  the  neglect 
with  which  she  had  been  treated,  called  attention  to  herself. 

"  Hum !"  said  that  young  lady,  indignantly,  "  I  suppose,  Mr. 
Verty,  I  am  too  small  to  be  seen.  Pray,  acknowledge  the  fact  of 
my  existence,  sir." 

"  Anan  ?"  said  Verty,  smiling. 

Fanny  stamped  her  pretty  foot,  and  burst  out  laughing. 

"  It's  easy  to  see  what  is  the  matter  with  you  !"  she  laughed. 

"Why,  there's  nothing,"  said  Verty. 

"  Yes,  there  is." 

"What?" 

"  You're  in  love." 


FANNY  MAKES^MEKRY  WITH  VERTY.  209 

Verty  laughed  and  blushed. 

"  There  !"  cried  Fanny,  "  I  knew  it." 

"  I  believe  I  am." 

"  Listen  to  him,  Redbud  !" 

"  She  knows  it,"  said  Verty. 

"  Hum  !  I  don't  see  how  anybody  can  help  knowing  it." 

"Why?" 

"  Because  it  is  plain." 


"  Yes,  sir  ;  this  very  moment  you  showed  it." 

"  Yes—  I  believe  I  did." 

"  Odious  old  thing  !" 

"Who?" 

"  Why,  Miss  Sallianna,  sir  —  I  don't  care  if  you  are  paying  your 
addresses  !  I  say  she's  an  odious  old  thing  !  —  to  be  giving  herself 
airs,  and  setting  her  cap  at  all  our  beaux  !" 

Verty  stared,  and  then  laughed. 

"  Miss  Sallianna  !"  he  cried. 

"Yes,  sir!" 

"  I'm  in  love  with  her  !" 

"  You've  just  acknowledged  it." 

"  Acknowledged  it  !" 

"There  !"  you're  going  to  deny  your  own  words,  like  the  rest 
of  your  fine  sex  —  the  men." 

"  No  —  I  did'nt  say  I  was  in  love  with  Miss  Sallianna." 

"  Did'nt  he,  Redbud  f  asked  Fanny,  appealing  to  her  friend. 

"  No,"  said  Verty,  before  she  could  reply  ;  "  I  said  I  was  in 
love  with  Redbud!" 

And  the  ingenuous  face  of  the  young  man  was  covered  with 
blushes. 

Fanny  fairly  shook  with  laughter. 

"  Oh,"  she  screamed,  "and  you  think  I  am  going  to  believe 
that  —  when  you  spend  the  first  half  an  hour  of  your  visit  with 

9* 


210       FANNY  MAKES  MERRY  WITH  VERTY. 

Miss  Sallianna — talking,  I  suppose,  about  the  'beauties  of 
nature !'  " 

And  the  young  girl  clapped  her  hands. 

"  I  wanted" — commenced  Verty — 

"  Oh,  don't  tell  me  what  you  wanted  !"  cried  Fanny  ;  "  you 
saw  in  the  garden  here  two  nice  young  girls,  if  I  do  say  it — " 

"  You  may— !" 

"  I  am  not  to  be  led  off  in  that  way,  sir !  I  say  you  saw  two 
agreeable  youn-g  ladies  here  evidently  not  indisposed  to  talk  with 
visitors,  as  it's  a  holiday — and  in  spite  of  that,  you  pass  your 
time  in  the  house  with  that  old  Sallianna,  cooing  and  wooing 
and  brewing,"  added  Miss  Fanny,  inventing  a  new  meaning  for 
an  old  word  on  the  spur  of  the  moment,  "  and  after  that  you 
expect  us  to  believe  you  when  you  say  you  are  not  in  love  with 
her — though  what  you  see  to  like  in  that  old  thing  it  would  take 
a  thousand  million  sybils,  to  say  nothing  of  oracles  and  Pytho 
nesses,  to  explain  !" 

With  which  exhausting  display  of  erudition,  Miss  Fanny  lay 
back  on  her  trellised  seat,  and  shook  from  the  point  of  her 
slippers  to  the  curls  on  her  forehead  with  a  rush  of  laughter. 

Redbud  had  recovered  from  her  momentary  confusion,  and, 
with  a  beseeching  glance  at  Fanny,  said  to  Verty  : 

"How  much  better  you  look,  Verty,  in  this  dress — indeed 
you  look  more  homelike." 

"  Do  I  ?"  said  the  happy  Verty,  bending  his  head  over  his 
shoulder  to  admire  the  general  effect ;  "  well,  I  feel  better." 

"  I  should  think  so." 

"  The  other  clothes  were  like  a  turkey  blind." 

"  A  turkey  blind  ? 

"  Oh,  you  smile ! — but  you  know,  when  you  are  lying  in  the 
blind,  the  pine  limbs  rub  against  you." 

"Yes."  . 

"  Then  they  did'nt  suit  me." 

"No,"  assented  Redbua. 


FANNY  MAKES  MEKBY  WITH  VERTY.  211 

"/don't  dance  the  minuet — so  I  did'nt  want  high-healed 
shoes — " 

Fanny  began  to  laugh  again. 

"  Nor  a  cocked  hat ;  the  fact  is,  I  do  not  know  how  to  bow." 

"  See  !     Come,  Mr.  Fisher-for-Compliments !"  cried  Fanny. 

"  Oh,  I  never  do !" 

"  Well,  I  believe  you  don't." 

"  Does  anybody  f ' 

"  Yes ;  that  odious  cousin  of  mine — that's  who  does — the  con 
ceited  coxcomb !" 

"Your  cousin  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"Who  is  it?" 

"  Ralph  Ashley." 

"  Oh — and  he  comes  to  see  you — and — Miss  Sallianna ;  she 
said—" 

Verty's  head  drooped,  and  a  shadow  passed  over  his  ingenuous 
face. 

"  There,  you're  thinking  of  Miss  Sallianna  again !" 

"  No — no,"  murmured  Verty,  gazing  at  Redbud  with  a  mel 
ancholy  tenderness,  and  trying  to  understand  whether  there  could 
possibly  be  any  foundation  for  Miss  Sallianna' s  charge,  that  that 
young  lady  was  in  love  with  Mr.  Ralph  Ashley. 

"  Could  it  be  ?     Oh,  no,  no  ! 

"  Could  what  be?"  asked  Fanny. 

For  once  Verty  was  reserved. 

"  Nothing,"  he  said. 

But  still  he  continued  to  gaze  at  Redbud  with  such  sad  tender 
ness,  that  a  deep  color  came  into  her  cheek,  and  her  eyes  were 
cast  down. 

She  turned  away ;  and  then  Miss  Lavinia's  advice  came  to  her 
mind,  and  with  a  sorrowful  cloud  upon  her  face,  she  reproached 
herself  for  the  kindness  of  her  manner  to  Verty,  in  their  present 
interview. 


212  FANNY  MAKES  MERRY   WITH  VERTY. 

"  I  think  I'll  go  and  gather  some  flowers,  yonder,"  she  said, 
smiling  faintly,  and  with  a  sad,  kind  look  to  Verty,  in  spite  of  all. 
"  Fanny  and  yourself  can  talk  until  I  return,  you  know — " 

"  Let  me  go  with  you,"  said  Verty,  moving  to  her  side. 

Redbud  hesitated. 

"  Come,  Eedbud  !"  said  Verty,  persuasively  smiling. 

"  Oh,  no  !  I  think  I  would  like  to  get  the  one's  I  prefer." 

And  she  moved  away. 

Verty  gazed  after  her  with  melancholy  tenderness — his  face  lit 
up  with  the  old  dreamy  Indian  smile.  We  need  not  say  that  the 
notable  scheme  suggested  by  Miss  Sallianna — namely,  his  making 
love  to  some  one  else  to  try  Redbud — had  never  crossed  the  in 
genuous  mind  of  the  young  man.  From  that  pure  mirror  the 
obscuring  breath  soon  disappeared.  He  did  not  wish  to  try 
Redbud — he  loved  her  too  much ;  and  now  he  remained  silent 
gazing  after  her,  and  wholly  unconscious  of  the  existence  of  Miss 
Fanny. 

That  young  lady  pouted,  and  uttered  an  expressive  "hum!" 

Verty  turned  his  eyes  absently  toward  her. 

"  You  can  go,  sir,  if  you  don't  like  my  society — I  am  not 
anxious  to  detain  you !"  said  Miss  Fanny,  with  refreshing 
candor. 

"  Go  where  ?"  said  Verty. 

"  After  Redbud." 

"  She  don't  want  me  to." 

"  Hum !" 

And  this  little  exclamation  indicated  the  light  in  which  Fanny 
regarded  the  excuse. 

Verty  continued  to  gaze  toward  Redbud,  who  was  gathering 
flowers. 

(<  How  kind  and  good  she  is !"   he  murmured. 

And  these  words  were  accompanied  by  a  smile  of  so  much 
tender  sincerity,  that  Fanny  relented. 

"  Yes,   she   is !"    said   that  young  lady ;    "  I'm  glad   to   see 


FANNY  MAKES  MERRY  WITH  VERTY.  213 

that  some  of  your  sex,  sir,  have  a  little  taste.  It  is  not  their 
failing." 

"  Anan!"  said  Verty,  smiling. 

Fanny  laughed ;  and  her  good  humor  began  to  return  com 
pletely. 

"  I  know  some  who  are  utterly  deficient,"  she  said. 

"  In  what  ?" 

"  Taste." 

"  Yes." 

And  Verty  gazed  after  Redbud. 

Fanny  burst  out  laughing  ;  but  then  remembering  her  promise 
to  Redbud,  to  treat  Verty  well,  and  amuse  him,  checked  this  ex 
hibition  of  satirical  feeling,  and  said  : 

"  Your  taste,  Mr.  Verty,  is  such  that  I  ought  to  quarrel  with 
it — but  I'm  not  going  to  ; — no,  not  for  fifty  thousand  worlds ! 
If  I  have  any  quarreling  to  do,  it  will  be  with  some  one  else !" 

"  With  whom  T ' 

"  That  coxcomb  cousin  of  mine,  Ralph  Ashley." 

Verty's  countenance  became  clouded  ;  it  was  the  second  time 
his  rival's  name  had  been  uttered  that  morning. 

"He  is  a  fop,"  said  Fanny — "  a  pure,  unadulterated,  presump 
tuous  and  intolerable  fop.  As  I  live,  there  he  is  coming  up  the 
road  !  Oh,  won't  we  have  fine  times — he  promised  to  show  me 
his  college  album !" 

And  the  impulsive  Fanny  clapped  her  hands,  and  more  loudly 
than  ever.  Five  minutes  afterward  Mr.  Ralph  Ashley  dismount 
ed  at  the  door  of  the  Bower  of  Nature. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

RALPH  MAKES  LOVE  TO  MISS  SALLIANNA. 

WE  shall  now  return  to  Miss  Sallianna,  and  see  what  effect 
the  viper  tendencies  of  Mr.  Verty  had  produced  upon  that  young 
lady. 

The  hysterics  did  not  last  long.  Miss  Sallianna  had  a  large 
and  useful  assortment  of  feminine  weapons  of  this  description, 
and  was  proficient  in  the  use  of  all — from  the  embarrassed,  sim 
pering  laugh  and  maiden  blush,  with  down-cast  eyes,  raised 
suddenly,  at  times,  toward  the  "beloved  object,"  then  abased 
again — to  the  more  artistic  and  effective  weapons  of  female  influ 
ence,  tears,  sobs,  convulsions,  hysterics  and  the  rest.  In  each 
and  all  of  these  accomplishments  was  Miss  Sallianna  versed. 

The  hysterics,  therefore,  did  not  last  long;  the  eyes  grew 
serene  again  very  soon  ;  and  contenting  herself  with  a  few  spite 
ful  looks  toward  the  group  in  the  garden,  which  glances  she 
accompanied  with  a  determined  and  vigorous  rubbing  of  her 
antique  nose,  Miss  Sallianna  gently  raised  her  fan,  and  seeing  a 
cavalier  approaching  from  the  town,  assumed  her  habitual  air 
of  languishing  and  meditative  grace. 

This  cavalier  was  our  friend  Ralph,  who,  having  deposited  Mr. 
Jinks  upon  the  earth  before  they  emerged  from  the  willows  in 
sight  of  the  Bower  of  Nature,  now  came  on,  laughing,  and  ready 
for  any  adventure  which  should  present  itself. 

Ralph  drew  up  before  the  house,  tied  his  horse,  and  entered. 

Miss  Sallianna  rose  graciously,  smiling. 


RALPH  MAKES  LOVE   TO  MISS  SALLIANNA.          215 

"  Good  morning,  sir,"  said  the  lady,  rolling  her  eyes  toward 
the  ceiling,  and  leaning  her  head  on  her  right  shoulder,  "  we  have 
a  charming  day." 

"  Oh,  charming !    but   that  is  not  all,  madam, "/said  Ealph, 
smiling  satirically,  as  he  bent  profoundly  over  the  hand  given  to 
him. 
g   "  Not  all,  sir?"  sighed  the  lady. 

"  There  is  something  still  more  charming." 

"What  is  that  f 

"The  dear  companion  with  whom  good  fortune  blesses  me.", 

This  was  so  very  direct,  that  Miss  Sallianna  actually  blushed. 

"  Oh,  no — "  she  murmured. 

"  Yes,  yes !" 

"  You  men—" 

"  Are  sincere — " 

"  Oh,  no  !  such  flatterers. 

"  Flatterers,  madam  ?"  said  Ralph,  laughing,  "  that  is  true  of 
some  of  us,  but  not  of  me ;  I  am  so  perfectly  sincere,  and  clad 
in  the  simplicity  of  my  nature  to  that  degree,  that  what  I  say  is 
the  pure  out-gushing  of  my  heart — ahem  !" 

The  lady  smiled,  and  motioned  toward  a  settee. 

"  The  beauties  of  nature — " 

"Yes,  my  dear  madam." 

"  Are—ahem !" 

"Yes,  yes." 

"  So  much  more  beautiful  than  those  of  art,"  sighed  Miss 
Sallianna,  contemplating  the  ceiling,  as  though  nature  had  taken 
up  her  post  there  to  be  gazed  at. 

"  I  fully  agree  with  you,"  said  Ralph,  "  they  are." 

"  Oh,  yes — they  are — I  knew  you  would — you  are  so — so 
remarkable — 

"  No,  no,  Miss  Sallianna  !" 

"  Yes,  you  are — for  your  intrinsic  perspicuity,  sir — la !" 

And  Miss  Sallianna  ogled  her  visitor. 


2lo          RALPH  MAKES   LOVE  TO   MISS  SALLIAXNA. 


is"  said  Ralph,  with  enthusiasm,  "is  the  proudest  moment 
of  my  life.  The  beautiful  Sallianna  —  " 

u  Oh,  Mr.  Ashley." 

"  Yes,  madam  !"  said  Ralph,  "  torture  would  not  make  me 
change  the  word." 

"La!  Mr.  Ashley!" 

"  The  beautiful  Miss  Sallianna  has  declared  that  I  am  pos 
sessed  of  intrinsic  perspicuity  !  I  need  nothing  more.  Now  let 
the  fates  descend  !" 

With  which  heroic  words  Air.  Ralph  Ashley  wiped  his  brow 
with  solemn  dignity,  and  chuckled  behind  his  handkerchief. 

"I  always  admired  perspicuity,"  said  Miss  Sallianna,  with  a 
languid  glance. 

"  And  I,  beauty,  madam." 

"La!  sir." 

"  Admiration  is  a  weak  word,  Miss  Sallianna." 

"  Opprobrium  ?"  suggested  the  lady. 

••  Yes,  yes!  that  is  the  word!  Thank  you.  Miss  Sallianna. 
I  am  not  as  strong  in  philology  as  you  are.  I  should  have  said 
opprobrium  —  that  is  what  I  have  always  regarded  beauty,  such  as 
yours,  all  my  life." 

Miss  Sallianna  covered  her  face  with  her  fan.  Here  was  an 
opportunity  to  supply  the  place  of  the  faithless  Verty  and  the 
odious  Jinks.  As  the  thought  occurred  to  her,  Miss  Sallianna 
assumed  an  awful  expression  of  favor  and  innocent  fondness. 
Ralph  shuddered  as  he  caught  sight  of  it. 

"  Are  you  fond  of  ladies.  sir  ?"  asked  Miss  Sallianna,  smiling. 

*'Yes,  Miss  Sallianna,  devotedly,"  said  Ralph,  recovering,  in 
some  degree. 

"  I  should  think  so." 

-Why,  madam?" 

"  From  your  visits." 

"My  visits?" 

"  Oh,  yes  —  you  are  very  sly  !" 


RALPH  MAKES  LOVE  TO  MISS  SALLIANNA.          217 

"Sly?— If" 

"Yes,  sir!" 

"Never!" 

u  I  think  you  have  grown  fond  of — " 

"  Yourself,  madam  ?" 

"  La— no.     I  fear—" 

«  As  I  do—" 

"  That  such  a  thing—" 

"  Is  more  than  I  could  presume  to  do,"  said  Ralph,  laughing. 

Miss  Sallianna  bestowed  upon  the  young  gentleman  a  look 
from  her  maiden  eyes,  which  seemed  to  say  that  he  might  pre 
sume  to  grow  fond  of  her,  if  it  had  really  become  necessary  to  his 
peace  of  mind. 

"  But  I  meant  Fanny,"  she  said. 

"  Fanny  !" 

"Yes,  your  cousin." 

"  A  mere  baby !"  said  Ralph,  with  nonchalance. 

"  I  agree  with  you." 

"  Which  I  consider  a  circumstance  of  great  encouragement, 
Miss  Sallianna.  The  fact  is,  Fanny  is  very  well  in  her  way,  and 
in  course  of  time  will  make,  no  doubt,  a  very  handsome  woman. 
But  at  present  I  only  call  to  see  her  because  I  have  nothing  else 
to  do." 

« Indeed  r 

"  I  am  just  from  college." 

«  Yes." 

"  And  consequently  very  innocent  and  inexperienced.  I  am 
sure  you  will  take  charge  of  my  education." 

"La!  Mr.  Ashley." 

"  I  mean,  Miss  Sallianna,  the  education,  not  of  my  mind — that 
is  finished  and  perfect :  Oh,  no !  not  that !  The  education  of 
my  heart !" 

Ralph  was  getting  on  at  headlong  speed. 

"  Do  you  consent  1"  he  said. 


218          RALPH   MAKES  LOVE  TO   MISS  SALLIANNA. 

"  La — really — indeed — " 

"  Why  not,  oh,  beautiful  lady—" 

"  How  can  I  ever — so  inexperienced — so  innocent  a  person  as 
myself  can  scarcely — " 

And  Miss  Sallianna  fell  into  a  flutter. 

"Then  Fanny  must." 

"  Oh,  no  !"  observed  Miss  Sallianna,  with  vivacity. 

"  Why  not?"  said  Kalph. 

"  She  could  not—" 

"  Could  not !" 

"  She  is  too  young,  and  then  besides — " 

"  Besides,  Miss  Sallianna  f ' 

"  She  is  already  taken  up  with  her  affair  with  Mr.  Verty." 

"What!"  cried  Ralph,  beginning  to  have  the  tables  turned 
upon  him,  and  to  suffer  for  his  quizzing. 

"  She  is  evidently  in  love  with  Mr.  Verty,"  said  Miss  Sallianna, 
compassionately  ;  "  that  is,  the  child  fancies  that  she  feels  a  rare 
and  inexpressive  delight  in  his  presence.  Such  children!" 

"  Yes,  madam !"  said  Ealph,  frowning. 

"  Especially  that  silly  young  man." 

"Verty?" 

"  Yes  ;  he  is  very  presumptuous,  too.  Just  think  that  he  pre 
sumed  to — to — make  love  to  me  this  morning  ;"  and  Miss  Salli- 
anna's  countenance  was  covered  with  a  maiden  blush.  "  I  could 
scarcely  persuade  him  that  his  attentions  were  not  agreeable." 

And  Miss  Sallianna  looked  dignified  and  ladylike. 

"  Fanny  in  love  with  him,"  said  Kalph,  reflecting. 

"  Look  through  the  window,"  said  Miss  Sallianna,  smiling. 

Kalph  obeyed,  and  beheld  Verty  and  Fanny  sitting  on  a  knoll, 
in  the  merriest  conversation ; — that  is  to  say,  Fanny  was  thus 
talking.  Young  ladies  always  begin  to  converse  very  loud  when 
visitors  arrive — for  what  reason  has  not  yet  been  discovered. 
Verty's  absent  look  in  the  direction  of  Fanny's  face  might  very 
well  have  been  considered  the  stare  of  a  lover. 


RALPH  MAKES  LOVE  TO   MISS  SALLIANNA.          219 

"  Do  you  doubt  any  longer  ?" 

" Oh,  no!" 

"Then,  Mr.  Ashley—" 

"  Yes,  madam." 

"  In  future  you  will — " 

"  Care  nothing  for — " 

"  The  person— " 

"  Who  seems  to  me  the  concentration  of  folly  and  everything 
of  that  description — no,  madam!  In  future  I  will  carefully 
avoid  her !" 

And  with  this  ambiguous  speech,  Mr.  Ralph  rose,  begged  Miss 
Sallianna  to  excuse  him  for  a  short  time,  and  making  her  a  low 
and  devoted  bow,  took  his  way  into  the  garden,  and  toward  the 
spot  where  Fanny  and  Verty  were  sitting. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

VEKTY  STATES  HIS  PRIVATE  OPINION  OF  MISS  SALLIANNA. 

FANNY  complimented  Mr.  Ralph  Ashley  with  a  very  indiffer 
ent  bow,  and  went  on  talking  with,  or  rather  to,  her  companion 
Verty. 

Ralph  tried  to  laugh  at  this ;  but  not  succeeding  very  well, 
came  suddenly  to  the  very  rational  conclusion  that  something 
unusual  was  going  on  in  his  breast.  He  had  never  before  failed 
to  utter  the  most  contagious  laughter,  when  he  attempted  the 
performance — what  could  the  rather  faint  sound  which  now  issued 
from  his  lips  be  occasioned  by  ? 

Puzzled,  and  at  his  philosophy's  end,  Ralph  began  to  grow 
dignified  ;  when,  luckily,  Redbud  approached. 

The  young  girl  greeted  him  with  one  of  her  kind  smiles,  and 
there  was  so  much  light  and  joy  in  her  face,  that  Ralph's  brow 
cleared  up. 

They  began  to  converse. 

The  chapter  of  accidents,  whereof  was  author  that  distinguish 
ed  inventor  of  fiction,  Miss  Sallianna,  promised  to  make  the 
present  interview  exceedingly  piquant  and  fruitful  in  entertaining 
misunderstanding  ;  for  the  reader  will  observe  the  situation  of  the 
parties.  Miss  Sallianna  had  persuaded  Verty  that  Redbud  was 
in  love  with  Ralph  ;  and,  in  the  second  place,  had  assured  Ralph, 
a  few  moments  before,  that  Fanny  was  in  love  with  Verty. 

Redbud  was  clinching  Verty's  doubts  by  smiling  sweetly  on 


VERTY'S  PRIVATE  OPINION  OF  MISS  SALLIANNA.    221 

Ralph  ; — Fanny  was  causing  dreadful  jealousy  and  conviction  of 
his  misfortune  in  Ralph,  by  making  herself  agreeable  to  Verty. 

The  schemes  of  the  great  Amazonian  General,  Sallianna, 
seemed  to  be  crowned  with  complete  success ;  and,  doubtless,  all 
would  have  turned  out  as  she  desired,  but  for  one  of  those  trivial 
circumstances  which  overturn  the  most  carefully  matured  con 
ceptions  of  the  greatest  intellects. 

This  was  the  simplicity  of  our  friend  Verty ;  and  he  uncon 
sciously  commenced  the  overturning  operation  by  saying : 

"  Redbud,  did  you  find  the  flowers  you  wanted?" 

The  young  girl  replied  : 

"  Oh,  yes !" 

"  '  Beauties  of  nature/  Miss  Sallianna  would  call  'em,  would'nt 
she?"  continued  Verty,  with  a  smile. 

"  Now,  Verty  !"  said  Redbud,  reproachfully. 

"  I  can't  help  it,"  returned  Verty ;  "  I  don't  like  Miss  Sal 
lianna." 

"  Not  like  that  paragon  !"  cried  Fanny. 

«  No." 

"Why  not,  sir?" 

"  She  told  me  a  story." 

"  A  story,  sir !" 

"  Yes." 

"  You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself  to  speak  so  disrespect 
fully  of  such  a  divine  creature — with  so  much  maiden  innocence 
and  intrinsic  simplicity,"  observed  Miss  Fanny,  inclining  her  head 
upon  one  shoulder,  and  rolling  her  eyes  toward  the  sky. 

Ralph  began  to  laugh. 

"  I  would'nt  say  it  if  it  was'nt  true/'  Verty  said ;  "but  it  is." 

"  What  story  did  she  tell  you,  sir  ?"  Fanny  went  on. 

"  She  said  that  Redbud  was  in  love  with  him — Ralph  Ashley." 

And  Verty  smiled. 

Fanny  burst  into  a  roar  of  laughter ;  Redbud  blushed ;  Ralph 
looked  with  astonishment  at  the  plain-spoken  Verty. 


222    YERTY'S  PRIVATE  OPINION  OF  MISS  SALLIANNA. 

"  You  know  that  was  a  story,"  said  he,  simply. 

Everybody  remained  silent  for  a  moment,  and  then  the  silence 
was  broken  by  Ralph,  who  cried,  laughing : 

"  I'll  back  you,  friend  Verty  !  every  word  of  it !" 

"  You,  sir  !"  cried  Fanny. 

"  Yes !  I  wonder  if  your  divine  creature — Sallianna  by  name 
— did  not  tell  me,  ten  minutes  since,  that  you — yes,  you,  Miss 
Fanny  ! — were  desperately  enamored  of  Mr.  Verty  !" 

The  whole  party  were  so  overcome  by  this  ludicrous  expose 
of  Miss  Sallianna' s  schemes,  that  a  laugh  much  louder  than  the 
first  rang  through  the  garden ;  and  when  Miss  Sallianna  was 
descried  sailing  in  dignified  meditation  up  and  down  the  portico, 
her  fan  gently  waving,  her  head  inclined  to  one  side,  her  eyes 
fixed  upon  the  sky,  Mr.  Ralph  Ashley  entered  into  a  neighboring 
mass  of  shrubbery,  from  which  came  numerous  choking  sounds, 
and  explosive  evidences  of  overwhelming  laughter. 

Thus  was  it  that  our  honest  Verty  at  once  cleared  up  all  mis 
understanding — and  made  the  horizon  cloudless  once  again.  If 
everybody  would  only  speak  as  plainly,  when  misconceptions  and 
mistakes  arise,  the  world  would  have  far  more  of  sunshine  iii  it ! 

"Just  to  think  !"  cried  Fanny,  "  how  that  odious  old  tatter 
demalion  has  been  going  on  !  Did  anybody  ever  ?" 

"  Anan  ?"  said  Verty. 

"Sir?"  said  Fanny. 

"  What's  a  tatterdemalion  ?"  asked  the  young  man,  smilingly. 

"  I  don't  exactly  know,  sir,"  said  Fanny  ;  "  but  I  suppose  it's 
a  conceited  old  maid,  who  talks  about  the  beauties  of  nature,  and 
tries  to  make  people,  who  are  friends,  hate  each  other." 

With  which  definition  Miss  Fanny  clenched  her  handsome 
little  hand,  and  made  a  gesture  therewith,  in  the  direction  of  Miss 
Sallianna,  indicative  of  hostility,  and  a  desire  to  engage  in  instant 
combat. 

Ralph  laughed,  and  said : 

"  You  meant  to  say,  my  dear  child,  that  the  lady  in  question 


VEETY'S  PEIVATE  OPINION  OF  MISS  SALLIANNA.     223 

tried  to  make  a  quarrel  between  people  who  loved  each  other — 
not  simply  <  were  friends.'  For  you  know  she  tried  to  make  us 
dislike  one  another." 

Fanny  received  this  insinuating  speech  with  one  of  her  expres 
sive  "  hums !" 

"  Don't  you  ?"  said  Ealph. 

"  What,  sir  ?" 

"  Love  me !" 

"  Oh,  devotedly !" 

"  Very  well ;  it  was  not  necessary  to  tell  me,  and,  of  course, 
that  pretty  curl  of  the  lip  is  only  to  keep  up  appearances.  But 
come  now,  darling  of  my  heart,  and  light  of  my  existence  !  as  we 
hav'nt  quarreled,  in  spite  of  Miss  Sallianna,  and  still  have  for  each 
other  the  most  enthusiastic  affection,  be  good  enough  to  forget 
these  things,  and  turn  your  attention  to  material  affairs.  You 
promised  me  a  lunch  !" 

«  Lunch !" 

"  Yes — and  I  am  getting  hungry." 

"  When  did  I  promise  ?" 

"  Yesterday." 

"  Oh— now— " 

"  You  remember ;  very  well.  It  was  to  be  eaten,  you  will 
recollect,  on  the  hill,  yonder,  to  the  west,  to  which  our  steps 
were  to  tend." 

"  Our  picnic  !  Oh,  yes !  My  goodness  gracious  !  how  could 
I  forget  it !  Come  on,  Reddie — come  and  help  me  to  persuade 
Mrs.  Scowley  to  undo  the  preserve-jar." 

Redbud  laughed. 

"  May  I  go  !"  said  Verty. 

"  Certainly,  sir  ;  you  are  not  at  liberty  to  refuse.  Who  would 
talk  with  Reddie  ?" 

"  I  don't  think — "  murmured  Redbud,  hesitating. 

"Now  !"  cried  Fanny,  "  did  anybody  ever  I" 

"  Ever  what  ?"  said  Verty. 


224:   VEKTY'S  PRIVATE  OPINION  OF  MISS  SALLIANNA. 

"  Ever  see  anybody  like  this  Miss  Redbud !" 

"  I  don't  think  they  ever  did,"   replied  Verty,  smiling. 

Which  reply  caused  Miss  Fanny  and  Mr.  Kalph  to  laugh, 
and  Redbud  to  color  slightly ;  but  this  soon  passed,  and  the  sim 
ple,  sincere  look  came  back  to  her  tender  face. 

Redbud  could  not  resist  the  glowing  picture  which  Fanny 
drew  of  the  picnic  to  be ;  and,  with  some  misgiving,  yielded. 
In  a  quarter  of  an  hour  the  young  men  and  the  young  girls  were 
on  their  way  to  the  beautiful  eminence,  swinging  the  baskets 
which  contained  the  commissariat  stores,  and  laughing  gleefully. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

HOW  LONGEAES  SHOWED  HIS  GALLANTRY  IN  FANNY'S  SERVICE. 

IT  was  one  of  those  magnificent  days  of  Fall,  which  dower  the 
world  with  such  a  wealth  of  golden  splendor  everywhere — but 
principally  in  the  mountains. 

The  trees  rose  like  mighty  monarchs,  clad  in  royal  robes  of  blue 
and  yellow,  emerald  and  gold,  and  crimson ;  the  forest  kings  and 
little  princely  alders,  ashes  and  red  dogwoods,  all  were  in  their 
glory.  Chiefly  the  emperor  tulip-tree,  however,  shook  to  the  air 
its  noble  vestments,  and  lit  up  all  the  hill-side  with  its  beauty. 
The  streams  ran  merrily  in  the  rich  light — the  oriole  swayed  upon 
the  gorgeous  boughs  and  sang  away  his  soul — over  all  drooped 
the  diaphanous  haze  of  October,  like  an  enchanting  dream. 

To  see  the  mountains  of  Virginia  in  October,  and  not  grow 
extravagant,  is  one  of  those  things  which  rank  with  the  discovery 
of  perpetual  motion — an  impossibility. 

Would  you  have  strength  and  rude  might1?  The  oak  is,  yon 
der,  battered  by  a  thousand  storms,  and  covered  with  the  rings 
of  forgotten  centuries.  Splendor?  The  mountain  banners  of 
the  crimson  dogwood,  red  maple,  yellow  hickory  and  chestnut 
flout  the  sky — as  though  all  the  nations  of  the  world  had  met  in 
one  great  federation  underneath  the  azure  dome  not  built  with 
hands,  and  clashed  together  there  the  variegated  banners  which 
once  led  them  to  war — now  beckoning  in  with  waving  silken  folds 
the  thousand  years  of  peace !  Would  you  have  beauty,  and  a 
tender  delicacy  of  outline  and  fine  coloring"?  Here  is  that  too; 

10 


226        LONGEARS'  GALLANTRY  IN  FANNY'S  SERVICE. 

1'or  over  all, — over  the  splendid  emperors  and  humble  princes,  and 
the  red,  and  blue,  and  gold,  of  oak,  and  hickory,  and  maple,  droops 
that  magical  veil  whereof  we  spoke — that  delicate  witchery, 
which  lies  upon  the  gorgeous  picture  like  a  spell,  melting  the 
headlands  into  distant  figures,  beckoning  and  smiling,  making  the 
colors  of  the  leaves  more  delicate  and  tender — turning  the  autumn 
mountains  into  a  fairy  land  of  unimagined  spendor  and  delight! 

Extravagance  is  moderation  looking  upon  such  a  picture. 

Such  a  picture  was  unrolled  before  the  four  individuals  who 
now  took  their  way  toward  the  fine  hill  to  the  west  of  the  Bower 
of  Nature,  and  they  enjoyed  its  beauty,  and  felt  fresher  and 
purer  for  the  sight. 

"  Isn't  it  splendid  !"  cried  Fanny. 

"  Oh,  yes  !"  Redbud  said,  gazing  delightedly  at  the  trees  and 
the  sky. 

"  Talk  about  the  lowland,"  said  Ralph,  with  patriotic  scorn  ; 
"  I  tell  you,  my  heart's  delight,  that  there  is  nothing,  anywhere 
below,  to  compare  with  this." 

"  Not  at  Richmond  ? — but  permit  me  first  to  ask  if  your 
observation  was  addressed  to  me,  sir?"  said  Miss  Fanny,  stop 
ping. 

''  Certainly  it  was,  my  own." 

"  1  am  not  your  own." 

"*  Aren't  you  T9 

"  No,  and  I  never  will  be  !" 

"•  Wait  till  you  are  asked  !"  replied  Ralph,  laughing  triumph- 
ritly  at  this  retort. 

"  Hum  !"   exclaimed  Fanny. 

"  But  you  asked  about  Richmond,  did  you  not,  my  beauty  ?" 

"  Ridiculous  !"  cried  Fanny,  laughing  ;  "well,  yes,  I  did." 

"  A  pretty  sort  of  a  place,"  Ralph  replied  ;  "  but  not  compar 
able  to  Winchester." 

"  Indeed— I  thought  differently." 

u  That's  not  to  the  purpose — you  are  no  judge  of  cities." 


LONGEAKS'  GALLANTRY  IN  FANNY'S  SERVICE.   E   227 

"  Hum  !     I  suppose  you  are." 

"  Of  course !" 

"  A  judge  of  everything  ?" 

"  Nearly — among  other  things,  I  judge  that  if  you  continue  to 
look  at  me,  and  don't  mind  where  you  are  walking,  Miss  Fanny, 
your  handsome  feet  will  carry  you  into  that  stream !" 

There  was  much  good  sense  in  these  words  ;  and  Fanny  im 
mediately  took  the  advice  which  had  been  proffered — that  is  to 
say,  she  turned  her  eye  away  from  the  bantering  lips  of  her  com 
panion,  and  measured  the  stream  which  they  were  approaching. 

It  was  one  of  those  little  mountain-brooks  which  roll  their 
limpid  waters  over  silver  sands ;  hurl  by  through  whispering 
ledges,  the  resort  of  snipe  and  woodcock  ;  or,  varying  this  quiet 
and  serene  existence  with  occasional  action,  dart  between  abrupt 
banks  over  mossy  rocks,  laughing  as  they  fly  onward  to  the  open 
sunlight. 

The  spot  which  the  party  had  reached,  united  these  charac 
teristics  mentioned. 

A  path  led  to  a  mossy  log,  stretched  from  bank  to  bank,  some 
feet  above  the  water — a  log  which  had  answered  the  purpose  of 
a  bridge  for  a  long  time,  it  seemed ;  for  both  ends  were  buried  in 
the  sward  and  the  flowers  which  decorated  it. 

Below  this,  the  limpid  stream  wound  over  bright  sands  and 
pebbles,  which  glittered  in  the  ripples  like  diamonds. 

"  Now !"  cried  Ralph,  "  here  is  a  pretty  pass !  How  are  these 
delightful  young  ladies  to  get  over,  Verty  ?" 

"  I  don't  know — I  suppose  they  will  walk,"  observed  Verty, 
simply. 

"  Walk !" 

"  Fes." 

"  What !  when  that  very  dog  there  had  to  balance  himself  in 
traversing  the  log  ?" 

"  Who,  Longears  f ' 

"  Yes,  Longears." 


228        LONGEARS'  GALLANTRY  IN  FANNY'S  SERVICE. 

"  He's  not  used  to  logs,"  said  Verty,  smiling,  and  shaking  his 
head  ;  "  he  generally  jumps  the  streams,  like  Cloud." 

"  Oh  !  you  need'nt  be  afraid,"  here  interrupted  Redbud,  smil 
ing,  and  passing  before  Fanny  quickly ;  "  we  can  get  over  easily 
enough." 

The  explanation  of  which  movement  was,  that  Miss  Redbud 
saw  the  lurking  mischief  in  Mr.  Ralph's  eyes,  and  wished  at  least 
to  protect  herself. 

"Easy  enough  !"  cried  Ralph,  moving  forward  quickly. 

"Yes;  look!" 

And  with  the  assistance  of  Verty,  who  held  one  of  her  hands, 
Redbud  essayed  to  pass  the  bridge. 

The  moss  rendered  it  slippery,  and  near  the  middle  she  almost 
fell  into  the  stream ;  with  Verty's  aid,  however,  the  passage  was 
safely  effected. 

\    "  There  !"   said  Redbud,  smiling,  "  you  see  I  was  right,  Mr. 
Ashley — was  I  not  ?" 

"  You  always  are!" 

"  And  me,  sir  ?"  said  Fanny,  approaching  the  bridge  with  per 
fect  carelessness. 

"  You  are  nearly  always  wrong,  my  life's  darling,"  observed 
Mr.  Ralph. 

"  You  are  too  bad,  Ralph  !     I'll  get  angry  !" 

"  At  what  ?" 

"  At  your  impertinence  !" 

"  I  was  not  impertinent." 

"  You  were." 

"  I  was  right." 

"  You  were  not." 

"  And  the  proof  is,  that  you  are  going  to  do  something  wrong 
now,"  said  Ralph,  laughing. 

"  What,  sir  ?" 

"  I  mean,  you  think  you  are  going  to?" 

"  What !  for  goodness  gracious  sake  !" 


LONGEARS'  GALLANTRY  IN  FANNY'S  SERVICE.        229 

"  Cross  that  log  !" 

"  I  certainly  am  going  to,"  said  Fanny,  putting  her  foot  upon  it. 

"  You  certainly  are  not" 

"Who  will  prevent  me?" 

"  I  will,  my  heart's  dear,"  said  Ralph,  snatching  Miss  Fanny 
up  in  his  arms,  and  rapidly  passing  across  with  his  burden  ;  "  no 
thing  easier  !  By  Jove,  there  goes  your  slipper !" 

In  fact,  just  at  the  middle  of  the  log,  the  ribbon,  binding  the 
slipper  to  Miss  Fanny's  ankle,  had  broken — probably  on  account 
of  her  struggles — and  the  luckless  slipper  had  fallen  into  the 
stream.  It  was  now  scudding  along  like  a  Lilliputian  boat,  the 
huge  rosettes  of  crimson  ribbon  standing  out  like  sails. 

Ralph  burst  into  a  roar  of  laughter,  from  which  he  was  in 
stantly  diverted  by  a  rousing  slap  upon  the  cheek,  administered 
by  the  hand  of  Fanny,  who  cried  out  at  his  audacity. 

"  Cousins,  you  know ! — we  are  cousins,  darling  ;  but  what  a 
tremendous  strength  of  arm  you  have !" 

"Try  it  again,  sir!"  said  Miss  Fanny,  pouting,  and  pulling 
down  her  sleeve,  which  had  mounted  to  her  shoulder  in  the 
passage. 

"  Never  !"  cried  Ralph ;  "  I  am  fully  conscious  of  my  improper 
conduct.  I  blush  to  think  of  it — that  is  to  say,  my  left  cheek 
does !" 

"  Served  you  right !"  said  Fanny. 

"  Uncharitable  !" 

"  Impudent !" 

"Unfortunate!" 

With  which  retort,  Mr.  Ralph  Ashley  pointed  to  the  slipper- 
less  foot,  which  was  visible  beneath  Miss  Fanny's  skirt,  and 
laughed. 

Ralph  would  then  have  made  immediate  pursuit  of  the  slipper, 
but  Verty  detained  him. 

The  young  man  called  Longears,  pointed  out  the  resetted  boat 
to  that  intelligent  serviteur,  and  then  turned  to  the  company. 


230       LONGEARS'  GALLANTRY  IN  FANNY'S  SERVICE. 

In  two  minutes  Longears  returned,  panting,  with  the  slipper 
in  his  dripping  mouth,  from  which  it  was  transferred  to  the  foot 
of  its  mistress,  with  merry  laughter  for  accompaniment. 

This  little  incident  was  the  subject  of  much  amusing  comment 
to  the  party — in  which  Miss  Fanny  took  her  share.  She  had 
soon  recovered  her  good-humor,  and  now  laughed  as  loudly  as 
the  loudest.  At  one  moment  she  certainly  did  blush,  however — 
that  is  to  say,  when,  in  ascending  the  hill — Verty  and  Redbud 
being  before — Mr.  Ralph  referred  to  the  delight  he  had  experi 
enced  when  he  "  saluted"  her  in  crossing — which  he  could  not 
help  doing,  he  said,  as  she  was  his  favorite  cousin,  and  her  cheek 
lay  so  near  his  own. 

Fanny  had  blushed  at  this,  and  declared  it  false ; — -with  what 
truth,  we  have  never  been  able  to  discover.  The  question  is 
scarcely  important. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

UP   THE   HILL-SIDE  AND  UNDER   THE    CHESTNUTS. 

THUS  leaving  the  sedgy  stream  behind,  with  all  its  brilliant 
ripples,  silver  sands,  and  swaying  waterflags,  which  made  their 
merry  music  for  it,  as  it  went  along  toward  the  far  Potomac, — 
our  joyful  party  ascended  the  fine  hill  which  rose  beyond, 
mounting  with  every  step,  above  the  little  town  of  Winchester, 
which  before  long  looked  more  like  a  lark's  nest  hidden  in  a 
field  of  wheat,  than  what  it  was — an  honest  border  town,  with 
many  memories. 

Verty  and  Rcdbud,  as  we  have  said,  went  first. 

We  have  few  artists  in  Virginia — only  one  great  humorist  with 
the  pencil.  This  true  history  has  not  yet  been  submitted  to  him. 
Yet  we  doubt  whether  ever  the  fine  pencil  of  Monsignor  Andante 
Strozzi  could  transfer  to  canvas,  or  the  engraver's  block,  the 
figures  of  the  maiden  and  the  young  man. 

Beauty,  grace,  and  picturesqueness  might  be  in  the  design,  but 
the  indefinable  and  subtle  poetry — the  atmosphere  of  youth,  and 
joy,  and  innocence,  which  seemed  to  wrap  them  round,  and  go 
with  them  wherever  they  moved — could  not  be  reproduced. 

Yet  in  the  mere  material  outline  there  was  much  to  attract. 

Redbud,  with  her  simple  little  costume,  full  of  grace  and 
elegance — her  slender  figure,  golden  hair,  and  perfect  grace  of 
movement,  was  a  pure  embodiment  of  beauty — that  all-powerful 
beauty,  which  exists  alone  in  woman  when  she  passes  from  the 


232     UP  THE  HILL-SIDE  AND  UNDEK  THE  CHESTNUTS. 

fairy  land  of  childhood,  or  toward  the  real  world,  pausing  with 
reluctant  feet  upon  the  line  which  separates  them. 

Her  golden  hair  was  secured  by  a  bow  of  scarlet  ribbon,  her 
dress  was  azure,  the  little  chip  hat,  with  its  floating  streamer, 
just  fell  over  her  fine  brow,  and  gave  a  shadowy  softness  to  her 
tender  smile :  she  looked  like  some  young  shepherdness  of  Ar- 
cady,  from  out  the  old  romances,  fresh,  and  beautiful,  and  happy. 
Poor,  cold  words !  If  even  our  friend  the  Signor,  before  men 
tioned,  could  not  do  her  justice,  how  can  we,  with  nothing  but 
our  pen  ! 

This  little'pastoral  queen  leant  on  the  arm  of  the  young  Leather- 
stocking  whom  we  have  described  so  often.  Verty's  costume, 
by  dint  of  these  outlined  descriptions,  must  be  familiar  to  the 
reader.  He  had  secured  his  rifle,  which  he  carried  beneath  his 
arm,  and  his  eye  dwelt  on  the  autumn  forest,  with  the  old  dreamy 
look  which  we  have  spoken  of.  As  he  thus  went  on,  clad  in  his 
wild  forest  costume,  placing  his  moccasined  feet  with  caution 
upon  the  sod,  and  bending  his  head  forward,  as  is  the  wont  of 
hunters,  Verty  resembled  nothing  so  much  as  some  wild  tenant 
of  the  American  backwoods,  taken  back  to  Arcady,  and  in  love 
with  some  fair  Daphne,  who  had  wiled  him  from  the  deer. 

All  the  old  doubt  and  embarrassment  had  now  disappeared 
from  Redbud's  face ;  and  Verty,  too,  was  happy. 

They  went  on  talking  very  quietly  and  pleasantly — the  fresh 
little  face  of  Kedbud  lit  up  by  her  tender  smile. 

"  What  are  you  gazing  at  ?"  said  the  young  girl,  smiling,  as 
Verty's  eye  fixed  itself  upon  the  blue  sky  intently ;  "  I  don't  see 
anything — do  you  1" 

"  Yes,"  said  Verty,  smiling  too. 

"What?" 

"  A  pigeon." 

"  Where  ?" 

"  Up  yonder ! — and  I  declare  !     It  is  yours,  Redbud." 

«  Mine  ?" 


UP  THE  HILL-SIDE  AND  UNDER  THE  CHESTNUTS.     233 

"  Yes — see  !  he  is  sweeping  nearer — pretty  pigeon  !" 

"  Oh — now  I  see  him — but  it  is  a  mere  speck ;  what  clear 
sight  you  have  !" 

Verty  smiled. 

"  The  fact  is,  I  was  brought  up  in  the  woods,"  he  said. 

"  I  know  ;  but  can  you  recognize —  ?" 

"  Your  pigeon,  Reddie  ?  oh,  yes  !  It  is  the  one  I  shot  that  day, 
and  followed." 

«  Yes—" 

"  And  found  you  by — I'm  very  much  obliged  to  him,"  said 
Verty,  smiling  ;  "  there  he  goes,  sweeping  back  to  the  Bower  of 
Nature." 

"  How  prettily  he  flies,"  Eedbud  said,  looking  at  the  bird, — 
"  and  now  he  is  gone." 

"I  see  him  yet — another  has  joined  him — there  they  go — 
dying,  dying,  dying  in  the  distance — there  !  they  are  gone !" 

And  Verty  turned  to  his  companion. 

"  I  always  liked  pigeons  and  doves,"  he  said,  "  but  doves  the 
best ;  I  never  shoot  them  now." 

"  I  love  them,  too." 

"  They  are  so  pretty  !" 

"  Oh,  yes  !"  said  Redbud  ;  "  and  they  coo  so  sweetly.  Did  you 
never  hear  them  in  the  woods,  Verty — moaning  in  their  nests  f ' 

"  Often— very  often,  Reddie." 

"  Then  the  dove  was  the  bird  sent  out  of  the  ark,  you  know." 

"  Yes,"  said  Verty,  "  and  came  back  with  the  olive  branch.  I 
love  to  read  that." 

"  What  a  long,  weary  flight  the  poor  bird  must  have  had!" 

"  And  how  tired  it  must  have  been." 

"But  God  sustained  it." 

"I  know,"  said  Verty;  "I  wish  I  had  been  there  when  it 
flew  back.  How  the  children — if  there  were  any  children — 
must  have  smoothed  its  wings,  and  petted  it,  and  clapped  their 
hands  at  the  sight  of  the  olive  branch!"  ;i,  • 

10* 


234     UP  THE  HILL-SIDE  AND  UNDER  THE  CHESTNUTS. 

The  simple  Verty  laughed,  as  he  thought  of  the  glee  of  the 
little  ark-children — "if  there  were  any." 

"  There  are  no  olives  here,"  he  said,  when  they  had  gone  a  little 
further ;  "  but  just  look  at  that  hickory !  It's  growing  as  yellow 
as  a  buttercup." 

"  Yes,  and  see  the  maples!" 

"  Poor  fellows!"  said  Verty. 

"  Why  pity  them? 

"  I  always  did ;  see  how  they  are  burning  away.  And  the 
chestnuts — oh !  I  think  we  will  get  some  chestnuts :  here  is  a 
tree — and  we  are  at  the  top  of  the  hill." 

Verty  thereupon  let  go  lledbud's  arm,  and  busied  himself  in 
gathering  a  pile  of  the  chestnuts  which  had  fallen.  This  ceremony 
was  attentively  watched  by  Longears,  who,  lying  with  his  front 
paws  stretched  out  straight,  his  head  bent  knowingly  on  one  side, 
and  an  expression  of  thoughtful  dignity  upon  his  countenance, 
seemed  to  be  revelling  in  the  calm  delights^of  a  good  conscience 
and  a  mild  digestion. 

Fanny  and  her  cavalier  came  up  just  as  Verty  had  collected 
a  pile  of  the  chestnuts,  and  prepared  some  stones  for  the  purpose 
of  mashing  them  out. 

The  party  thereupon,  with  much  laughter,  betook  themselves 
to  the  task,  talking  gaily,  and  admiring  the  landscape  as  they 
munched — for  even  young  ladies  munch — the  chestnuts. 

One  accident  only  happened,  and  that  was  not  of  an  important 
nature.  Longears,  full  of  curiosity,  like  most  intellectual  charac 
ters,  had  approached  very  near  Verty  as  he  was  mashing  the 
chestnuts  upon  the  stone  selected  for  the  purpose,  and  even  in 
the  excess  of  his  interest,  had  protruded  his  nose  in  the  vicinity 
of  the  young  man's  left  hand,  which  held  the  nuts,  while  he  pre 
pared  to  strike  it  with  the  mass  of  limestone  which  he  held  in 
his  right. 

It  chanced  that  Verty  was  talking  to  Fanny  when  Longears 
made  this  demonstration  of  curiosity,  and  did  not  observe  him. 


UP  THE  HILL-SIDE  AND  UNDER  THE  CHESTNUTS.     235 

Longears  sniffed. 

Verty  raised  his  stone. 

Longears  smelt  at  the  chestnut  in  his  master's  grasp,  his  cold 
muzzle  nearly  touching  it. 

The  stone  crashed  down. 

Longears  made  a  terrific  spring  backwards,  and  retiring  to 
some  distance  rubbed  his  nose  vigorously  with  his  paws,  looking 
all  the  while  with  dignified  reproach  at  his  master. 

The  nose  had  not  suffered,  however,  and  Longears  was  soon 
appeased  and  in  a  good  humor  again.  The  incident  caused  a 
great  accession  of  laughter,  and  after  this  the  chestnuts  having 
been  eaten,  the  party  rose  to  walk  on. 


CHAPTER  XL. 

UNDER  THE  GREENWOOD   TREE. 

"  How,  sir." 

"  Well,  madam." 

"  Keep  your  promise." 

"  Please  to  indicate  it." 

"  I  refer,  sir,  to  your  college  album." 

"  Oh,  certainly  !  here  it  is,  my  darling — all  ready." 

And  Mr.  Kalph  Ashley,  between  whom  and  Miss  Fanny  this 
dialogue  had  taken  place,  seated  himself  beneath  a  magnificent 
tulip-tree  ;  and  with  a  movement  of  the  head  suggested  a  similar 
proceeding  to  the  rest. 

All  being  seated,  the  young  man  drew  from  his  breast-pocket 
a  small  volume,  bound  in  leather,  and  with  a  nod  to  Fanny, 
said  : 

"I  have  changed  my  mind — I  can't  read  but  two  or  three." 

"  Broken  your  promise,  you  mean." 

"  No,  my  own  ; — oh,  no." 

"  Kalph,  you  are  really  too  impudent !" 

"How,  pray?" 

"  And  presumptuous !" 

"Why?" 

"  Because,  sir — " 

"  I  call  you  'my  own'  in  advance?     Eh?" 

"Yes,  sir!" 

Fanny  had   uttered  the  words  without  reflection — intending 


UNDER  THE   GREENWOOD  TREE.  237 

them  as  a  repfy  to  Mr.  .Ralph's  sentence,  the  words  "  in  advance," 
being  omitted  therefrom.  Everybody  saw  her  mistake  at  once, 
and  a  shout  of  laughter  greeted  the  reply. 

Ralph  assumed  a  close  and  cautious  expression,  and  said  : 

"  Well — I  will  be  more  careful  in  future.  The  fact  is,  that 
people  who  are  to  be  married,  should  be  as  chary  of  their  endear 
ments,  in  public,  as  those  who  are  married." 

General  laughter  and  assent — except  from  Fanny,  who  was 
blushing. 

"  Nothing  is  more  disagreeable,"  continued  Ralph,  philosoph 
ically,  "  than  these  public  evidences  of  affection  ;  it  is  positively 
shocking  to  see  and  hear  two  married  people  exchanging  their 
1  dears'  and  'dearests,'  'loves'  and  'darlings' — especially  to 
bachelors;  it  is  really  insulting  !  Therefore,  it  is  equally  in  bad 
taste  with  those  who  are  to  be  married  ; — logically,  consequently, 
and  in  the  third  place — and  lastly — it  is  not  proper,  between  my 
self  and  you,  my  Fanny — hum — Miss  Fanny!" 

This  syllogistic  discourse  was  received  by  Fanny  with  a  mix 
ture  of  blushes  and  satirical  curls  of  the  lip.  "  Hum  !"  more 
than  once  issued  from  her  lips ;  and  this  expression  always  signi 
fied  with  the  young  lady  in  question — "indeed!" — "really!" — 
"  you  think  that's  mighty  fine  !" — or  some  other  phrase  indica 
tive  of  scorn  and  defiance. 

On  the  present  occasion,  after  uttering  a  number  of  these 
"  hums  !"  Fanny  embodied  her  feelings  in  words,  and  replied  : 

"  I  think,  Ralph,  you  are  the  most  impudent  gentleman  I  have 
ever  known,  and  you  wrong  me.  I  wonder  how  you  got  such 
bad  manners  ;  at  Williamsburg,  I  reckon.  Hum  !  If  you  wait 
until  /marry  you — !" 

"  I  shall  never  repent  the  delay  ?"  asked  Ralph — "is  that  what 
you  mean  ?     Well,  I  don't  believe  I  shall.     But  a  truce  to  jest 
ing,  my  charming  cousin.     You  spoke  of  Williamsburg,  and  my 
deterioration  of  manners,  did  you  not?" 
"  Yes !" 


238  UNDER  THE   GREENWOOD  TREE. 

"  I  can  prove  that  I  have  not  deteriorated." 

"  Try,  then." 

"  No,  I  would  have  to  read  all  this  book,  which  is  full  of  com 
pliments,  Fanny ;  that  would  take  all  day.  Besides,  I  am  too 
modest." 

"  Oh !"  laughed  Fanny,  who  had  recovered  her  good  humor. 

"  Let  us  hear,  Mr.  Ralph,"  said  Redbtid,  smiling. 

"  Yes — let  us  see  how  the  odious  college  students  write  and 
talk,"  added  Fanny,  laughing. 

"Well,  I'll  select  one  from  each  branch,"  said  Ralph  :  "the 
friendly,  pathetic,  poetical,  and  so  forth.  Lithe  and  listen,  ladies, 
all!" 

And  while  the  company  listened,  even  down  to  Longears,  who 
lay  at  some  distance,  regarding  Ralph  with  respectful  and  appre 
ciative  attention,  as  of  a  critic  to  whom  a  MS.  is  read,  and  who 
determines  to  be  as  favorable  as  he  can,  consistent  with  his  repu 
tation — while  they  listened,  Ralph  opened  his  book  and  read  some 
verses. 

We  regret  that  only  a  portion  of  the  album  of  Mr.  Ralph  Ash 
ley  has  come  down  to  modern  times — the  rats  having  devoured 
a  greater  part  of  it,  no  doubt  attracted  by  the  flavor  of  the  com 
position,  or  possibly  the  paste  made  use  of  in  the  binding.  We 
cannot,  therefore,  present  the  reader  with  many  of  the  beautiful 
tributes  to  the  character  of  Ralph,  recorded  in  the  album  by  his 
admiring  friends. 

One  of  these  tributes,  especially,  was — we  are  informed  by 
vague  tradition — perfectly  resplendent  for  its  imagery  and  dic 
tion  ;  contesting  seriously,  we  are  assured,  the  palm,  with  Homer, 
Virgil  and  our  Milton  ;  though  unlike  bright  Patroclus  and  the 
peerless  Lycidas,  the  subject  of  the  eulogy  had  not  suffered 
change  when  it  was  penned.  The  eulogy  in  question  compared 
Ralph  to  Demosthenes,  and  said  that  he  must  go  on  in  his 
high  course,  and  gripe  the  palm  from  Grascia's  greatest  son  ;  and 
that  from  the  obscure  shades  of  private  life,  his  devoted  Tumles 


UNDER  THE   GREENWOOD  TREE.  239 

would  watch  the  culmination  of  his  genius,  and  rejoice  to  reflect 
that  they  had  formerly  partaken  of  lambs-wool  together  in  the 
classic  shades  of  William  and  Mary ;  with  much  more  to  the 
same  effect. 

This  is  lost ;  but  a  few  of  the  tributes,  read  aloud  by  Mr. 
Ralph,  are  here  inserted. 

The  first  was  poetic  and  pathetic  : 

"  MY  DEAR  ASHLEY  : 

"  Reclining  in  my  apartment  this  evening,  and  reflecting  upon 
the  pleasing  scenes  through  which  we  have  passed  together — 
alas  !  never  to  be  renewed,  since  you  are  not  going  to  return — 
those  beautiful  words  of  the  Swan  of  Avon  occurred  to  me : 

'  To  be  or  not  to  be — that  is  the  question  ; 
Whether  'tis  better  in  this  world  to  bear 
The  slings  and  arrows  of — ' 

I  don't  remember  the  rest ;  but  the  whole  of  this  handsome  so 
liloquy  expresses  my  sentiments,  and  the  sincerity  with  which, 
"  My  dear  Ashley, 

"  I  am  yours, 


"  No  names !"  cried  Ralph;  "now  for  another:  Good  old 
Bantam !" 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Bantam  writes  this,  does  he1?"  cried  Fanny. 

"  Yes,  Miss  ;  for  which  reason  I  pass  it — no  remonstrances  ! — 
I  am  inflexible ;  here  is  another : 

•"  DEAR  RALPH: 

"  I  need  not  say  how  sorry  I  am  to  part  with  you.  We  have 
seen  a  great  deal  of  each  other,  and  I  trust  that  our  friendship 
will  continue  through  after  life.  The  next  session  will  be  dull 


240  UNDER  THE   GREENWOOD   TREE. 

without  you — I  do  not  mean  to  natter — as  you  go  away.     You 
carry  with  you  the  sincere  friendship  and  kindest  regards  of, 
"  Dear  Ralph,  your  attached  friend, 


"  I  like  that  very  much,  Mr.  Ralph,"  said  Redbud,  smiling. 

"  You'd  like  the  writer  much  more,  Miss  Redbud,"  said  the 
young  man ;  "  really  one  of  the  finest  fellows  that  I  ever  knew. 
I  want  him  to  pay  me  a  visit — I  have  no  other  friend  like 
Alfred." 

"  Oh,  Alfred's  his  name,  is  it !"  cried  Fanny  ;  "  what's  the 
rest  ?  I'll  set  my  cap  at  him." 

"  Alfred-Nothing,  is  his  name,"  said  Ralph,  facetiously  ;  "  and 
I  approve  of  your  course.  You  would  be  Mrs.  Nobody,  you 
know  ;  but  listen — here  is  the  enthusiastic  : 

"  MY  DEAR  ASHLEY  : 

"  You  are  destined  for  great  things — it  is  yours  to  scale  the 
heights  of  song,  and  snatch  the  crown  from  Ossa's  lofty  brow. 
Fulfil  your  destiny,  and  make  your  country  happy !" 


"  Oh,  yes  !"  said  Fanny ;  "  why  don't  you  !" 

"  I  will !" 

"  Very  likely !" 

"  I'm  glad  you  agree  with  me  ;  but  here  is  the  considerate" 

And  turning  the  leaf,  he  read — 

"I  SAY,  OLD  FELLOW: 

"  May  your  course  in  life  be  serene  and  happy  ;  and  may  your 
friends  be  as  numerous  and  devoted  as  the  flies  and  mosquitos  in 
the  Eastern  Range. 

"  Your  friend,  till  death, 


UNDER  THE   GREENWOOD   TREE.  241 

"  The  fact  is,"  said  Ralph,  in  explanation,  "  that  this  is  prob 
ably  the  finest  wish  in  the  book." 

"  Were  there  many  flies  ?"  said  Fanny. 

"Myriads!" 

"  And  mosquitos  f 

"  Like  sands  on  the  seashore,  and  of  a  size  which  it  is  dreadful 
to  reflect  upon  even  now." 

"  Very  large  ?" 

"  You  may  judge,  my  dear  Fanny,  when  I  tell  you,  that  one 
of  them  flew  against  a  scallop  of  oysters  which  the  boots  was 
bringing  to  my  apartment,  and  with  a  single  flap  of  his  wings 
dashed  it  from  the  hand  of  the  boots — it  was  dreadful ;  but  let 
us  get  on  :  this  is  the  last  I  will  read." 

And  checking  Miss  Fanny's  intended  outburst  at  the  oyster 
story,  Mr.  Ralph  read  on — 

"  You  ask  me,  my  dear  Ashley,  to  give  you  some  advice,  and 
write  down  my  good  wishes,  if  I  have  any  in  your  direction.  Of 
course  I  have,  my  dear  fellow,  and  here  goes.  My  advice  first, 
then,  is,  never  to  drink  more  than  three  bottles  of  wine  at  one 
sitting — this  is  enough ;  and  six  bottles  is,  therefore,  according  to 
the  most  reliable  rules  of  logic — which  I  hate — too  much.  You 
might  do  it  if  you  had  my  head;  but  you  havn't,  and  there's  an 
end  of  it.  Next,  if  you  want  to  bet  at  races,  ascertain  which 
horse  is  the  general  l  favorite,'  and  as  our  friend,  the  ostler,  at  the 
Raleigh  says — go  agin  him.  Human  nature  invariably  goes 
wrong ;  and  this  a  wise  man  will  never  forget.  Next,  if  you 
have  the  playing  mania,  never  play  with  anybody  but  gentlemen. 
You  will  thus  have  the  consolation  of  reflecting  that  you  have 
been  ruined  in  good  company,  and,  in  addition,  had  your  pleas 
ure  ; — blacklegs  ruin  a  man  with  a  vulgar  rapidity  which  is  posi 
tively  shocking.  Next,  my  dear  boy — though  this  I  need'nt  tell 
you — never  look  at  Greek  after  leaving  college,  or  Moral  Philoso- 


242  UNDER  THE   GREENWOOD  TREE. 

phy,  or  Mathematics  proper.  It  interferes  with  a  man's  education, 
which  commences  when  he  has  recovered  from  the  disadvantages 
of  college.  Lastly,  my  dear  fellow,  never  fall  in  love  with  any 
woman — if  you  do,  you  will  inevitably  repent  it.  This  world 
would  get  on  quietly  without  them — as  long  as  it  lasted — and  I 
need'nt  tell  you  that  the  Trojan  War,  and  other  interesting 
events,  never  would  have  happened,  but  for  bright  eyes,  and  sighs, 
and  that  sort  of  thing.  If  you  are  obliged  to  marry,  because  you 
have  an  establishment,  write  the  names  of  your  lady  acquaint 
ances  on  scraps  of  paper,  put  them  in  your  hat,  and  draw  one 
forth  at'  random.  This  admirable  plan  saves  a  great  deal  of 
trouble,  and  you  will  inevitably  get  a  wife  who,  in  all  things, 
will  make  you  miserable. 

"Follow  this  advice,  my  dear  fellow,  and  you  will  arrive 
at  the  summit  of  happiness.  I  trust  I  shall  see  you  at  the 
Oaks  at  the  occasion  of  my  marriage — you  know,  to  my  lovely 
cousin.  She's  a  charming  girl,  and  we  would  be  delighted  to 
see  you. 

"  Ever,  my  dear  boy, 

"  Your  friend 

"  and  pitcher, 


"  Did  anybody—" 

"Ever?"  asked  Ralph,  laughing. 

"  Such  inconsistency  !"  said  Fanny. 

"Not  a  bit  of  it!" 

"  Not  inconsistent !" 

"Why,  no." 

"  Explain  why  not,  if  you  please,  sir!     I  wonder  if — " 

"  That  cloud  does  not  threaten  a  storm,  and  whether  I  am 
not  hungry?"  said  Ralph,  finishing  Miss  Fanny's  sentence, 
putting  the  album  in  his  pocket,  and  attacking  the  baskets. 


UNDER  THE   GREENWOOD  TREE.  243 

"  Come,  my  dear  cousin,  let  us,  after  partaking  of  mental  food, 
assault  the  material !  By  Jove  !  what  a  horn  of  plenty  !" 

And  Ralph,  in  the  midst  of  cries  exclamatory,  and  no  little 
laughter,  emptied  the  contents  of  the  basket  on  the  velvet 
eward,  variegated  by  the  sunlight  through  the  boughs,  and  fit  for 
kings. 

The  lunch  commenced. 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

USE  OF  COATS  IN  A  STORM. 

IT  was  a  very  picturesque  group  seated  that  day  beneath  the 
golden  trees  ;  and  the  difference  in  the  appearance  of  each  mem 
ber  of  the  party  made  the  effect  more  complete. 

Redbud,  with  her  mild,  tender  eyes,  and  gentle  smile  and  syl 
van  costume,  was  the  representative  of  the  fine  shepherdesses  of 
former  time,  and  wanted  but  a  crook  to  worthily  fill  Mario w's 
ideal ;  for  she  had  not  quite 

"  A  belt  of  straw  and  ivy  buds, 
With  coral  clasps  and  amber  studs, — " 

her  slender  waist  was  encircled  by  a  crimson  ribbon,  quite  a^ 
prettily  embroidered  as  the  zone  of  the  old  poet's  fancy,  and 
against  her  snowy  neck  the  coral  necklace  which  she  wore  was 
clearly  outlined,  rising  and  falling  tranquilly,  like  May-buds  wo 
ven  by  child-hands  into  a  bright  wreath,  and  launched  on  the 
surface  of  some  limpid  stream. 

And  Fanny — gay,  mischievous  Fanny,  with  her  mad-cap 
countenance,  and  midnight  eyes,  and  rippling,  raven  curls — 
Fanny  looked  like  a  young  duchess  taking  her  pleasure,  for  the 
sake  of  contrast,  in  the  woods — far  from  ancestral  halls,  and 
laughing  at  the  follies  of  the  court.  Her  hair  trained  back — as 
Redbud' s  was — in  the  fashion  called  La  Pompadour;  her  red- 
heeled  resetted  shoes — her  silken  gown — all  this  was  plainly 


USE   OF  COATS   IN  A  STORM.  245 

the  costume  of  a  courtly  maiden.     Redbud  was  the  country  ; 
Fanny,  town. 

Between  Verty  and  Ralph,  we  need  not  say,  the  difference 
was  as  marked.  . 

The  one  wild,  primitive,  picturesque,  with  the  beauty  of  the 
woods. 

The  other  richly  dressed,  with  powdered  hair  and  silk  stockings. 

This  was  the  group  which  sat  and  laughed  beneath  the  fine  old 
tulip  trees,  and  gazed  with  delight  upon  the  splendid  landscape, 
and  were  happy.  Youth  was  theirs,  and  that  sunshine  of  the 
breast  which  puts  a  spirit  of  joy  in  everything.  They  thought 
of  the  scene  long  years  afterwards,  and  saw  it  bathed  in  the 
golden  hues  of  memory ;  and  sighed  to  think  that  those  bright 
days  and  the  child-faces  had  departed — faces  lit  up  radiantly 
with  so  much  tenderness  and  joy. 

Do  not  all  of  us?  Does  the  old  laughter  never  ring  again 
through  all  the  brilliant  past,  so  full  of  bright,  and  beautiful,  and 
happy  figures — figures  which  illustrated  and  advanced  that  past 
with  such  a  glory  as  now  lives  not  upon  earth  ?  Balder  the 
beautiful  is  gone,  but  still  Hermoder  sees  him  through  the  gloom 
— only  the  form  is  dead,  the  love,  and  joy,  and  light  ol  brilliant 
eyes  remains,  shrined  in  their  memory.  .Thus,  we  would  fain 
believe  that  no  man  loses  what  once  made  him  happy — that  for 
every  one  a  tender  figure  rises  up  at  times  from  that  horizon,  lit 
with  blue  and  gold,  called  youth :  some  loving  figure,  with  soft, 
tender  smiles,  and  starlike  eyes,  and  arms  which  beckon  slowly 
to  the  weary  traveller.  The  memory  of  the  old  youthful  scenes 
and  figures  may  be  deadened  by  the  inexorable  world,  but  still 
the  germ  remains  ;  and  this  old  lost  tradition  of  pure  love,  and 
joy,  and  youth,  comes  back  again  to  bless  us. 

The  young  girls  and  their  companions  passed  the  hours  very 
merrily  upon  the  summit  of  the  tall  hill,  from  which  the  old 
border  town  was  visible  far  below,  its  chimneys  sending  upward 


246  USE   OF   COATS  IN  A  STORM. 

slender  lines  of  smoke,  which  rose  like  blue  and  golden  staves  of 
olden  banners,  then  were  flattened,  and  so  melted  into  air. 

Winchester  itself  had  slowly  sunk  into  gloom,  for  the  evening 
was  corning  on,  and  a  storm  also.  The  red  light  streamed  from 
a  mass  of  clouds  in  the  west,  which  resembled  some  old  feudal 
castle  in  flames  ;  and  the  fiery  furzes  of  the  sunset  only  made  the 
blackness  of  the  mass  more  palpable. 

Then  this  light  gradually  disappeared  :  a  murky  gloom  settled 
down  upon  the  conflagration,  as  of  dying  fires  at  midnight,  and 
a  cool  wind  from  the  mountains  rose  and  died  away,  and  rose 
again,  and  swept  along  in  gusts,  and  shook  the  trees,  making 
them  grate  and  moan. 

Verty  rose  to  his  feet. 

"In  five  minutes  we  shall  have  a  storm,"  he"  said.  "Come, 
Redbud — and  Miss  Fanny." 

Even  as  he  spoke,  the  far  distance  pushed  a  blinding  mass 
toward  them,  and  a  dozen  heavy  drops  began  to  fall. 

"We  cannot  get  back!"  cried  Ralph. 

"But  we  can  reach  the  house  at  the  foot  of  the  hill!"  said 
Fanny." 

"  No  time  to  lose !" 

And  so  saying,  Verty  took  Redbud' s  hand,  and  leaving  Fanny 
to  Ralph,  hastened  down  the  hill. 

Before  they  had  gone  twenty  steps,  the  thunder  gust  burst  on 
them  furiously. 

The  rain  was  blinding — terrible.  It  scudded  along  the  hill 
side,  driven  by  the  wind,  with  a  fury  which  broke  the  boughs, 
snapped  the  strong  rushes,  and  flooded  everything. 

Redbud,  who  was  as  brave  a  girl  as  ever  lived,  drew  her  chip 
hat  closer  on  her  brow,  and  laughed.  Fanny  laughed  for  com 
pany,  but  it  was  rather  affected,  and  the  gentlemen  did  not 
consider  themselves  called  upon  to  do  likewise. 

"Oh,  me!"  cried  Verty,  "you'll  be  drenched,  Redbud!  I 
must  do  something  for  your  shoulders.  They  are  almost  bare  !" 


USE   OF  COATS  IN  A  STOKM.  247 

And  before  Redbud  could  prevent  him,  the  young  man  drew  off 
his  fur  fringed  coat  and  wrapped  it  round  the  girl's  shoulders, 
with  a  tenderness  which  brought  the  color  to  her  cheek. 

Redbud  in  vain  remonstrated — Verty  was  immovable ;  and  to 
divert  her,  called  her  attention  to  the  goings  on  of  Ralph. 

This  young  gentleman  had  no  sooner  seen  Verty  strip  off  his 
coat  for  Redbud,  than  with  devoted  gallantry  he  jerked  off  his 
own,  and  threw  it  over  Miss  Fanny  ;  not  over  her  shoulders  only, 
but  her  head,  completely  blinding  her  :  the  two  arms  hanging 
down,  indeed,  like  enormous  ears  from  the  young  girl's  cheeks. 

Having  achieved  this  feat,  Mr.  Ralph  hurried  on — followed 
Verty  and  Redbud  over  the  log,  treating  Miss  Fanny  much  after 
the  fashion  of  the  morning  ;  and  so  in  ten  minutes  they  reached 
the  house  at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  and  were  sheltered. 

Fanny  overflowed  with  panting  laughter  as  she  turned  and 
threw  the  coat  back  to  Ralph. 

"  There,  sir  !"  she  cried,  "  there  is  your  coat !  How  very  gal 
lant  in  you  !  I  shall  never — no,  sir,  never  forget  your  de- 
votedness!" 

And  the  young  girl  wrung  the  water  from  her  curls,  and 
laughed. 

"  Nothing  more  natural,  my  dear,"  said  Ralph. 

"Than  what?" 

"  My  devotedness." 

"How?" 

"  Can  you  ask  f ' 

"Yes,  sir,  I  can." 

"  Would  you  have  me  a  heathen  ?" 

"  A  heathen !" 

"  Yes,  Miss  Fanny ;  the  least  which  would  be  expected  of  a 
gentleman  would  be  more  than  I  have  done,  under  the  circum 
stances,  and  with  the  peculiar  relationship  between  us. 

"  Oh,  yes,  cousinship  !" 

"  No,  madam,  intended  wedlock." 


248  USE   OF  COATS  IN   A  STORM. 

"Sir!" 

"  Come,  don't  blush  so,  my  heart's  delight,"  said  Ralph,  "  and 
if  the  subject  is  disagreeable,  that  is,  a  reference  to  it  in  this  pub 
lic  manner,  I  will  say  no  more." 

"Hum!"— 

"  There,  now — " 

"I  think  that  your  impudence — " 

"  Is  very  reasonable,"  said  Ralph,  filling  up  the  sentence  ;  "  but 
snppose  you  dry  your  feet,  and  yourself  generally,  as  Miss  Red- 
bud  is  doing.  That  is  more  profitable  than  a  discussion  with 
me." 

This  advice  seemed  excellent,  and  Fanny  determined  to  follow 
it,  though  she  did  not  yield  in  the  tongue  contest  without  a  num 
ber  of  "hums!"  which  finally,  however,  died  away  like  the 
mutterings  of  the  storm  without. 

The  good-humored  old  woman  to  whom  the  humble  mansion 
belonged,  had  kindled  a  bundle  of  twigs  in  the  large  fire-place ; 
and  before  the  cheerful  blaze  the  young  girls  and  their  cavaliers 
were  soon  seated,  their  wet  garments  smoking,  and  the  owners  of 
the  garments  laughing. 

The  good-humored  old  dame  would  have  furnished  them  with 
a  change,  but  this  was  declared  unnecessary,  as  the  storm  seemed 
already  exhausted,  and  they  would,  ere  long,  be  able  to  continue 
their  way. 

Indeed,  the  storm  had  been  one  of  those  quick  and  violent 
outbursts  of  the  sky,  which  seem  to  empty  the  clouds  instantly 
almost,  as  though  the  pent  up  waters  were  shut  in  by  a  floodgate, 
shattered  by  the  thunder  and  the  lightning.  Soon,  only  a  few 
heavy  drops  continued  to  fall,  and  the  setting  sun,  bursting  in 
splendor  from  the  western  clouds,  poised  its  red  ball  of  fire  upon 
the  horizon,  and  poured  a  flood  of  crimson  on  the  dancing 
streamlets,  the  glittering  grass,  and  drenched  foliage  of  the  hill 
side. 

Redbud  ro,«e,  smiling. 


USE   OF   COATS   IN  A  STORM.  249 

"  I  think  we  can  go  now,"  she  said,  I  am  afraid  to  stay  any 
longer — my  clothes  are  very  wet,  and  I  have  not  health  enough 
to  risk  losing  any." 

With  which  the  girl,  with  another  smile,t  ied  the  ribbon  of 
her  chip  hat  under  her  chin,  and  looked  at  Verty. 

That  gentleman  rose. 

"I  wish  my  coat  had  been  thicker,"  he  said,  "but  I  can't 
help  it.  Yes,  yes,  Redbud,  indeed  we  must  get  back.  It 
would'nt  do  for  you  to  get  sick." 

"  And  me,  sir  !"  said  Fanny. 

"  You  f  said  Verty,  smiling. 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  I  suppose  it  would  do  for  me?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"  Hum !" 

"  I  can  tell  you,  dear,"  said  Ralph,  "  and  I  assure  you  the 
thing  would  not  answer  under  any  circumstances.  Come,  let  us 
follow  Miss  Redbud. 

They  all  thanked  the  smiling  old  dame,  and  issuing  from  the 
cottage,  took  their  way  through  the  sparkling  fields  and  along  the 
wet  paths  toward  home  again.  They  reached  the  Bower  of 
Nature  just  at  twilight,  and  entering  through  the  garden  were 
about  to  pass  in,  when  they  were  arrested  by  a  spectacle  on  the 
rear  portico,  which  brought  a  smile  to  every  lip. 

Mr.  Jinks  was  on  his  knees  before  Miss  Sallianna  there. 


11 


CHAPTER  XUI. 

HOW  MR.  JINKS  REQUESTED  RALPH  TO  HOLD  HIM. 

OUK  last  view  of  Mr.  Jinks  was  at  Bousch's  tavern,  when, 
mounting  in  a  manner  peculiar  to  himself  behind  Ralph,  the 
warlike  gentleman  set  out  to  take  revenge. 

He  had  ridden  thus  almost  to  the  Bower  of  Nature ;  but  on 
reaching  the  belt  of  willows  at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  requested  to 
be  placed  upon  the  earth,  in  order  to  make  his  toilet,  to  prepare 
nimself  for  the  coming  interview,  and  for  other  reasons. 

Ralph  had  laughed,  and  complied. 

Mr.  Jinks  had  seated  himself  upon  a  bank  by  the  little  stream — 
the  same  which  we  have  seen  the  picnic  party  cross  higher  up— 
upon  a  log,  and  then  drawing  from  his  pocket  a  small  mirror,  he 
had  proceeded  to  make  his  toilet. 

This  ceremony  consisted  in  a  scrupulous  arrangement  of  his 
artificial  locks — a  cultivation  of  the  warlike  and  chivalrous  ex 
pression  of  countenance — and  a  general  review  of  the  state  of  his 
wardrobe. 

He  soon  finished  these  ceremonies,  and  then  continued  his  way 
toward  the  Bower  of  Nature. 

He  arrived  just  as  Ralph  had  proposed  the  excursion  to  the 
young  girls — consequently,  some  moments  after  the'young  fellow's 
interview  with  Miss  Sallianna — and  entered  with  the  air  of  a 
conqueror  and  a  master. 


HOW  JINKS  EEQUESTED  RALPH  TO  HOLD  HIM.        251 

History  and  tradition — from  which,  with  the  assistance  of 
imagination,  (nothing  unusual,)  our  veritable  narrative  is  drawn 
— history  affords  us  no  information  in  regard  to  what  occurred 
at  this  interview  between  Mr.  Jinks  and  Miss  Sallianna. 

That  the  interview  would  have  been  terrific,  full  of  reproaches, 
drowned  in  tears,  objurgations,  and  jealous  ravings,  is  certainly  no 
more  than  the  words  of  Mr.  Jinks  would  have  led  an  impartial 
listener  to  believe.  But  Mr.  Jinks  was  deep — knew  women,  as 
he  often  said,  as  well  as  need  be — and  therefore  it  is  not  at  all 
improbable  that  the  jealous  ravings  and  other  ceremonies  were, 
upon  reflection,  omitted  by  Mr.  Jinks,  as  in  themselves  un 
necessary  and  a  waste  of  time.  The  reader  may  estimate  the 
probabilities,  pro  and  con,  for  himself. 

Whatever  doubt  exists,  however,  upon  the  subject  of  this 
interview — its  character  and  complexion — no  doubt  at  all  can 
possibly  attach  to  the  picturesque  denouement  which  we  have 
referred  to  in  the  last  lines  of  our  last  chapter. 

Mr.  Jinks  was  on  his  knees  before  the  beautiful  Sallianna. 

The  girls  and  their  companions  saw  it — distinctly,  undoubtedly, 
without  possibility  of  mistake  ;  finally,  hearing  the  sound  of  foot 
steps  on  the  graveled  walks,  Mr.  Jinks  turned  his  head,  and  saw 
that  they  saw  him ! 

It  was  a  grand  spectacle  which  at  that  moment  they  beheld  : 
Mr.  Jinks  erect  before  his  rival  and  his  foes — Mr.  Jinks  with  his 
hand  upon  his  sword — Mr.  Jinks  with  stern  resolve  and  lofty 
dignity  in  his  form  and  mien. 

"  Sir,"  said  Mr.  Jinks  to  Ralph,  "  I  am  glad  to  see  you — !" 

"  And  I  am  delighted,  my  dear  Jinks !"  returned  Ralph. 

"A  fine  day,  sir  !" 

"  A  glorious  day  !" 

"  A  heavy  storm." 

"  Tremendous !" 

"  Wet  ?" 

"  Very !" 


252        HOW  JINKS  REQUESTED  RALPH  TO  HOLD  HIM. 

And  Kalph  wrung  the  water  out  of  his  falling  cuff. 
"  I  say,  though,"  said  he,  "  things  seem  to  have  been  going  on 
very  tranquilly  here." 
"  Sir  ?" 

"Come,  old  fellow!"  don't  be  ashamed  of—" 
"  What,  sir !    /  ashamed  ?" 
"  Of  kneeling  down — you  know." 

And  Ralph,  smiling  confidentially,  made  significant  signs  over 
his  shoulder  toward  Miss  Sallianna3  who  had  withdrawn  with 
blushing  diffidence  to  the  other  end  of  the  portico,  and  was 
gently  waving  her  fan  as  she  gazed  upon  the  sunset. 

"  The  fact  is,  I  was  arranging  her  shoe-bow,"  said  Mr.  Jinks. 
"Oh!"  said  Ralph,  "gammon." 
"Sir?" 

y   "  You  were  courting  her." 
"Courting!" 

"  Ah — you  deny  it !  Well,  let  us  see  !" 

And  to  Mr.  Jinks'  profound  consternation  he  raised  his  voice, 
and  said,  laughing : 

"  Tell  me,  Miss  Sallianna,  if  my  friend  Jinks  has  not  been 
courting  you  I" 

"  Oh,  sir !"  cried  Miss  Sallianna,  in  a  flutter. 
"  Did  you  say,  no  ?"  continued  Ralph,  pretending  to  so  under 
stand  the  lady ;  "  very  well,   then,  I  may  advise  you,  my  dear 
Jinks,  not  to  do  so." 
"  Do  what,  sir  1" 
"  Court  Miss  Sallianna." 

"  Why  not,  sir  ?"  cried  Mr.  Jinks,  bristling  up. 
"  Because  you  would  have  no  chance." 
"  No  chance,  sir  !" 

Ralph's  propensity  for  mischief  got  the  better  of  him  ;  and 
leaning  over,  he  whispered  in  the  warlike  gentleman's  ear,  as  he 
pointed  to  Miss  Sallianna. 


HOW  JINKS  REQUESTED  EALPH  TO  HOLD  HIM.        253 

"  I  say,  Jinks,  don't  you  understand  ? — desperately  in  love — 
hum — with — -hum — Verty  here ;  no  doubt  of  it !" 

And  Ralph  drew  back,  looking  mysterious. 

Mr.  Jinks  cast  upon  the  quiet  Verty  a  glance  which  would 
have  frozen  giants  into  stone. 

"  No,  sir  !  all  explained  !"  he  said. 

"  It  can't  be,  my  dear  fellow,"  said  Ralph,  in  a  low  tone. 
"  Verty  has  the  proofs." 

"  Did  you  speak  to  me  f  said  Verty,  smiling  :  he  had  been 
talking  with  Redbud  during  this  conference. 

"  Yes,  I  did,"  said  Ralph.     Verty  smiled,  and  said  : 

"  I  did  not  hear  what  you  asked." 

"  No  wonder,"  said  Ralph.     And  turning  to  Mr.  Jinks  : 

"  Observe,"  he  said,  in  a  low  tone,  "  how  Mr.  Verty  is  trying 
to  make  Miss  Sallianna  jealous." 

"  Perdition  !"  said  Mr.  Jinks. 

"  Oh,  certainly !"  replied  Ralph,  with  solemn  sympathy ; 
"  but  here  is  Mr.  Verty  waiting  patiently  to  hear  what  I  have 
to  say." 

"  Yes,"  said  Verty,  still  smiling. 

"  It  is  Mr.  Jinks  who  desires  to  speak,"  said  Ralph,  retiring 
with  a  chuckle,  and  leaving  the  adversaries  face  to  face. 

"  Hum — at — yes,  sir — I  desired  to  speak,  sir  !"  said  Mr. 
Jinks,  with  threatening  calmness. 

"  Did  you  ?"  said  Verty,  smiling. 

"Yes,  sir!" 

"  I  can  hear  now." 

"  It  is  well  that  you  can,  sir !  Mark  me,  sir !  Some  people 
cannot  hear !" 

"Ah  ?"  said  Verty,  "  yes,  you  mean  deaf  people  !" 

"  I  refer  to  others,  sir  !" 

"  Yes  ?" 

"  Nor  can  they  see." 

"  Blind  people,"  suggested  Verty. 


254       HOW  JINKS  REQUESTED  RALPH  TO  HOLD  HIM. 

Mr.  Jinks  had  an  impression  that  Verty  was  trifling  with 
him  ;  and  considering  him  too  good-natured  to  quarrel,  advanced 
toward  him  with  a  threatening  gesture. 

"  I  refer  to  people  neither  blind  nor  deaf,  who  cannot  see  nor 
hear  insults,  sir  !"  he  said. 

"  I  never  knew  any,"  said  Verty,  wondering  at  Mr.  Jinks. 

"  You  are  one,  sir  1" 

"  I!" 

"Yes!" 

"  Do  you  mean  I  am  afraid  of  anything  *?"     , 

"  I  mean,  sir,  that  I  have  been  wronged." 

"  I  don't  care,"  said  Verty,  "  you  are  not  good-natured." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  sir  ?" 
i     "  You  are  angry." 

"  I  am,  sir !" 

"I  advise  you  not  to  be;  you  don't  look  handsome,"  said 
Verty." 

"  Sir  !"  cried  Mr.  Jinks. 

Verty' s  face  assumed  an  expression  of  mild  inquiry. 

«  Will  you  fight  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Vevty,  "  but  you  ought  not  to  fight  with  that 
old  sword.  It's  too  long,  and  besides  it  would  frighten  old 
Scowley  — " 

"  Sir  !"  cried  Mr.  Jinks,  ferociously. 

"  And  I  know  Miss  Sallianna  would  scream,"  said  Verty.  "  I 
would'nt  mind  that,  though — I  would'nt — for  I  don't  like  her — 
she  told  me  a  story  !" 

Mr.  Jinks  flashed  out  his  sword,  and  brandished  it  around  his 
head. 

"  Oh,  me !  you've  been  scrubbing  it !"  said  Verty,  laughing. 

To  describe  the  terrific  rage  of  Mr.  Jinks  at  this  disregard  of 
himself,  his  threats  and  weapon,  would  be  utterly  impossible. 

The  great  Jinks  raved,  swore,  and  executed  such  ferocious 
pirouettes  upon  his  grass-hopper  legs,  in  the  direction  of  the 


HOW  JINKS  REQUESTED  RALPH  TO  HOLD  HIM.       255 

smiling  Verty,  that  Ralph  became  alarmed  at  the  consequence 
of  his  mischief,  and  hastened  to  the  rescue. 

"  No,  Jinks  !"  he  cried,  "  there  must  be  no  fighting." 

"  No  fighting !"  cried  Mr.  Jinks,  whose  ferocity,  as  soon  as  he 
found  himself  held  back,  became  tremendous, — "  no  fighting !" 
?.    "  No,"  said  Ealph. 

"  Release  me,  sir !" 

"  Never !"  cried  Ralph,  pinning  his  arms. 

"  Hold  me,  sir !  or  I  will  at  once  inflict  condign  punishment 
upon  this  individual!" 

"  Certainly,"  said  Ralph,  beginning  to  laugh.  "  I  will  hold 
you  ;  I  thought  you  said  release  you  !" 

"  I  did,  sir !"  cried  Mr.  Jinks,  making  a  very  faint  effort  to 
get  at  Verty. 

"  Which  shall  I  do  V 

"  I  will  murder  him !"  cried  Mr.  Jinks,  struggling  with  more 
energy,  from  the  fact  that  Ralph  had  grasped  himjnore  tightly. 

"  Jinks  !  Jinks  !  you  a  murderer !" 

"  I  have  been  wronged !"  said  the  champion,  brandishing  his 
sword. 

"  Oh,  no." 

"  The  respectable  Mrs.  Scowley  has  been  insulted  !" 

"  You  are  mistaken !" 

"  The  divine  Sallianna  has  been  charged  with  falsehood  !" 

"  A  mere  jest." 

"  Let  me  run  the  villain  through  !" 

And  Mr.  Jinks  made  a  terrific  lunge  with  his  sword  at  Verty, 
and  requested  Mr.  Ashley  to  hold  him  tight,  unless  he  wished  to 
see  the  Bower  of  Nature  swimming  in  "  gory  blood !" 

The  colloquy  we  have  faithfully  reported,  took  place  in  far 
less  time  than  we  have  taken  to  narrate  it. 

Redbud  had  hastened  forward  with  terror  in  her  face,  Fanny 
with  bewilderment — lastly,  Miss  Sallianna  had  rushed  up  to  the 
spot  with  a  scream ;  the  various  personages  came  together  just 


256       HOW  JINKS  REQUESTED  RALPH  TO  HOLD  HIM. 

when  Mr.  Jinks  uttered  his  awful  threat  in  relation  to  "  gory 
blood." 

"  Oh,  Verty  !"  said  Kedbud. 

Verty  smiled. 

"  Alphonso  !"  cried  Miss  Sallianna,  with  distraction. 

Alphonso  Jinks  made  overwhelming  efforts  to  get  at  his 
enemy. 

"  Please  don't  fight — for  my  sake,  Verty !"  murmured  Red- 
bud,  with  pale  lips. 

"  Spare  him,  Alphonso !"  cried  Miss  Sallianna,  with  a  shake 
of  agony  in  her  voice ;  "  spare  his  youth,  and  do  not  take  oppro 
brious  revenge  1" 

"  He  has  wronged  me  !"  cried  Mr.  Jinks. 

"  Pardon  him,  Alphonso  !" 

"  He  has  insulted  you  !" 

"  I  forgive  him  !"  cried  Miss  Sallianna. 

"  I  will  have  revenge  !" 

And  Mr.  Jinks  brandished  his  sword,  and  kept  at  a  distance 
from  Verty,  making  a  feint  of  struggling. 

"  Jinks,"  said  Ralph,  "  you  are  tiring  me  out.  I  shall  let  you 
go  in  another  second,  if  you  don't  put  up  that  sword,  and  stop 
wrestling  with  me !" 

This  threat  seemed  to  moderate  Mr.  Jinks'  rage,  and  he  re 
plied  : 

"  This  momentary  anger  is  over,  sir — I  forgive  that  young 
man- — Sallianna  !  beautiful  Sallianna !  for  thy  sake  !" 

But  overcome  with  nerves,  and  the  revulsion  produced  by  this 
change  in  affairs,  the  beautiful  Sallianna's  head  drooped  upon 
one  shoulder,  her  eyes  were  closed,  and  her  arms  were  extended 
towards  Mr.  Jinks. 

Before  that  gentleman  was  aware  of  the  fact,  Miss  Sallianna 
had  been  overcome  by  nerves,  and  reclined  in  a  faint  state  upon 
his  bosom. 


HOW  JINKS  REQUESTED  RALPH  TO  HOLD  HIM.       257 

We  need  not  detail  the  remaining  particulars  of  the  scene 
whose  outline  we  have  traced.  . 

Verty,  who  had  received  all  Mr.  Jinks'  threats  and  gesticula 
tions  with  great  unconcern,  applied  himself  to  conversation  with 
Redbud  again  :  and  no  doubt  would  have  conversed  all  the  even 
ing,  but  for  Ealph.  Ralph  drew  him  away,  pointing  to  the  damp 
clothes ;  and  with  many  smiles,  they  took  their  leave. 

The  last  thing  the  young  men  observed,  was  Mr.  Jinks  sup 
porting  Miss  Sallianna,  who  had  fainted  a  second  time,  and 
raising  his  despairing  eyes  to  heaven. 

They  burst  out  laughing,  and  continued  their  way. 


11* 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

VERTY'S  HEART  GOES  AWAY  IN  A  CHARIOT. 

VERTY  remained  hard  at  work  all  the  next  day  ;  and  such  was 
the  natural  quickness  of  the  young  man's  mind,  that  he  seemed 
to  learn  something  every  hour,  in  spite  of  the  preoccupation 
which,  as  the  reader  may  imagine,  his  affection  for  our  little 
heroine  occasioned. 

Roundjacket  openly  expressed  his  satisfaction  at  the  result  of 
the  day's  labor,  and  hazarded  a  sly  observation  that  Yerty  would 
not,  on  the  next  day,  remain  so  long  at  his  desk,  or  accomplish 
so  much.  They  could  not  complain,  however,  Mr.  Round- 
jacket  said  ;  Verty  was  a  scion  of  the  woods,  a  tamed  Indian, 
and  nothing  was  more  natural  than  his  propensity  to  follow 
the  bent  of  his  mind,  when  fancy  seized  him.  They  must 
make  allowances — he  had  no  doubt,  in  time,  everything  would 
turn  out  well — yes,  Verty  would  be  an  honorable  member  of 
society,  and  see  the  graces  and  attraction  of  the  noble  profession 
which  he  had  elected  for  his  support. 

Yerty  received  these  friendly  words — which  were  uttered 
between  many  chuckles  of  a  private  and  dignified  character — 
with  dreamy  silence  ;  then  bowing  to  Mr.  Roundjacket,  mounted 
Cloud,  called  Longears,  and  rode  home. 

On  the  following  morning  events  happened  pretty  much  as 
Mr.  Roundjacket  had  predicted. 

Yerty  wrote  for  some  moments — then  stopped;  then  wrote 
again  for  one  moment — then  twirled,  bit,  and  finally  threw  down 
his  pen. 


VERTY'S  HEART  GOES  AWAY  IN  A  CHAIUOT.     269 

Roundjacket  chuckled,  and  observed  that  there  was  much  in 
justice  done  him  in  not  elevating  him  to  the  dignity  of  prophet. 
And  then  he  mildly  inquired  if  Verty  would  not  like  to  take 
a  *ide. 

Yes,  Verty  would  like  very  much  to  do  so.  And  in  five 
minutes  the  young  man  was  riding  joyfully  toward  the  Bower 
of  Nature. 

Sad  news  awaited  him. 

Kedbud  had  suffered  seriously  from  her  wetting  in  the  storm. 
First,  she  had  caught  a  severe  cold — this  had  continued  to  in 
crease — then  this  cold  had  resulted  in  a  fever,  which  threatened 
to  confine  her  for  a  long  time. 

Poor  Verty' s  head  drooped,  and  he  sighed  so  deeply  that 
Fanny,  who  communicated  this  intelligence,  felt  an  emotion  of 
great  pity. 

Could' nt  he  see  Redbud  ? 

Fanny  thought  not ;  he  might,  however,  greet  her  as  she 
passed  through  the  town.  Word  had  been  sent  to  Apple  Or 
chard  of  her  sickness,  and  the  carriage  was  no  doubt  now  upon 
its  way  to  take  her  thither.  There  it  was  now — coming  through 
the  willows ! 

The  carriage  rolled  up  to  the  door ;  Miss  Lavinia  descended, 
and  greeting  Verty  kindly,  passed  into  the  house. 

In  a  quarter  of  an  hour  the  severe  lady  came  forth  again, 
accompanied  by  the  simpering  Miss  Sallianna,  and  by  poor  Ked 
bud,  who,  wrapped  in  a  shawl,  and  with  red,  feverish  cheeks, 
made  Verty  sigh  more  deeply  than  before. 

A  bright  smile  from  the  kind  eyes,  a  gentle  pressure  of  the 
white,  soft  hand,  now  hot  with  fever,  and  the  young  girl  was 
gone  from  him.  The  noise  of  the  carriage-wheels  died  in  the 
distance. 

Verty  remained  for  some  moments  gazing  after  it ;  then  he 
rose,  and  shaking  hands  with  the  pitying  Fanny,  who  had  lost  all 
her  merriment,  got  slowly  into  the  saddle  and  returned. 


260     VEKTY'S  HEAET  GOES  AWAY  IN  A  CHAEIOT. 

He  had  expected  a  day  of  happiness  and  laughter  with  Red- 
bud,  basking  in  the  fond  light  of  her  eyes,  and  rambling  by  her 
side  for  happy  hours. 

He  had  seen  her  with  fevered  cheek  and  hand,  go  away  froni 
him  sick  and  suffering. 

His  arms  hanging  down,  his  chin  resting  on  his  breast,  Verty 
returned  slowly  to  the  office,  sighing  piteously — even  Longears 
seemed  to  know  the  suffering  of  his  master,  and  was  still  and 
quiet. 


CHAPTER  XLW. 

IN   WHICH   THE   HISTORY   RETURNS   TO   APPLE   ORCHARD. 

*  HAVING  devoted  much  space  in  the  foregoing  pages  to  those 
scenes,  descriptive,  grotesque,  and  sentimental,  which  took  place 
at  the  Bower  of  Nature  and  Winchester,  it  is  proper  that  we 
should  now  go  back  to  the  domain  of  Apple  Orchard,  and  the 
inhabitants  of  that  realm,  so  long  lost  sight  of  in  the  contemplation 
of  the  graces  and  attractions  of  Miss  Sallianna,  and  the  various 
planets  which  hovered  in  the  wake  of  that  great  feminine  sun  of 
love  and  beauty.  Apple  Orchard,  so  long  Ibst  sight  of,  will  not 
longer  suffer  itself  to  be  neglected  ;  and,  fortunately,  the  return 
of  our  heroine,  Redbud,  affords  an  opportunity  of  passing  away, 
for  the  time,  from  other  scenes,  and  going  thither  in  her  com 
pany. 

Redbud' s  sickness  did  not  last  long.  The  girl  had  one  of 
those  constitutions  which,  though  they  seem  frail  and  delicate, 
yet,  like  the  reed,  are  able  to  resist  what  breaks  more  robust 
frames.  The  wetting  she  had  gotten,  on  the  evening  whose 
events  we  have  chronicled,  had  not  seriously  affected  her ; — a 
severe  cold,  and  with  it  some  slight  fever,  had  been  the  result. 
And  this  fever  expended  itself  completely,  in  a  few  days,  and 
left  the  girl  well  again,  though  quite  weak  and  "  poorly,"  as  say 
the  Africans. 

Redbud,  like  most  persons,  was  not  fond  of  a  sick-room  ;  and 
after  sending  word,  day  after  day,  to  our  friend  Verty — who 
never  failed  to  call  twice  at  least,  morning  and  evening — that  she 


262  APPLE   ORCHARD. 

was  better,  and  better,  the  girl,  one  morning,  declared  to  cousin 
Lavinia  that  she  was  well  enough  to  put  on  her  dressing-wrap 
per,'  and  go  down  stairs. 

After  some  demur,  accompanied  by  many  grave  and  solemn 
shakes  of  the  head,  Miss  Lavinia  assented  to  this  view  of  the 
case  ;  and  accordingly  set  about  arranging  the  girl's  hair,  which 
had  become — thanks  to  the  fact  that  she  could  not  bear  it  tied 
up — one  mass  of  curls  of  the  color  of  gold  ;  and  this  task  having 
been  performed  with  solemn  but  affectionate  care,  the  Squire 
made  his  appearance,  according  to  appointment,  and  taking  his 
"baby,"  as  he  called  our  heroine  of  sixteen  and  a  half,  in  his 
arms,  carried  her  down  stairs,  and  deposited  her  on  a  sofa,  front 
ing  the  open  window,  looking  on  the  fresh  fields  and  splendid 
autumn  forest. 

Redbud  lay  here  gazing  with  delight  upon  the  landscape,  and 
smiling  pleasantly.  The  autumn  hours  were  going  to  the  west — 
the  trees  had  grown  more  golden  than  on  that  fine  evening,  when, 
with  sad  mishaps  to  Fanny,  the  gay  party  had  wandered  over 
the  hills,  though  not  very  far  away,  and  seen  the  thunder-storm 
suck  in  the  dazzling  glories  of  the  bannered  trees.  Another  year, 
with  all  its  light,  and  joy,  and  beauty,  slowly  waned  away,  and 
had  itself  decently  entombed  beneath  the  thick,  soft  bed  of  yel 
low  leaves,  with  nothing  to  disturb  it  but  the  rabbit's  tread,  or 
forest  cries,  or  hoof-strokes  of  the  deer.  That  year  had  added 
life  and  beauty  to  the  face  and  form  of  Redbud,  making  her  a 
woman-child — before  she  was  but  a  child  ;  and  the  fine  light 
now  in  her  tender  eyes,  was  a  light  of  thought  and  mind,  the 
mature  radiance  of  opening  intellect,  instead  of  the  careless,* 
thoughtless  life  of  childhood.  She  had  become  suddenly  much 
older,  the  Squire  said,  since  going  to  the  Bower  of  Nature  even  ; 
and  as  she  lay  now  on  her  couch,  fronting  the  dying  autumn,  the 
year  which  whispered  faintly  even  now  of  its  bright  coming  in 
the  Spring,  promised  to  make  her  a  "  young  lady  !" 

And  as  Redbud  lay  thus,  smiling  and  thinking,  who  should 


APPLE    ORCHARD.  263 

run  in,  with  laughing  eyes  and  brilliant  countenance,  and  black 
curls,  rippling  like  a  midnight  stream,  but  our  young  friend,  Miss 
Fanny. 

Fanny,  joyous  as  a  lark — and  merrier  still  at  seeing  Redbud 
"  down  stairs"  again — overflowing,  indeed,  with  mirth  and  laugh 
ter,  like  a  morn  of  Spring,  and  making  old  Caesar,  dozing  on  the 
rug,  rise  up  and  whine. 

Fanny  kissed  Redbud  enthusiastically,  which  ceremony,  as 
everybody  knows,  is,  with  young  ladies,  exactly  equivalent  to 
shaking  hands  among  the  men  ;  and  often  indicates  as  little  real 
good-feeling  slanderous  tongues  have  whispered.  No  one,  how 
ever,  could  have  imagined  that  there  was  any  affectation  in 
Fanny's  warm  kiss.  The  very  ring  of  it  was  enough  to  prove 
that  the  young  lady's  whole  heart  was  in  it,  and  when  she  sat 
down  by  Redbud  and  took  her  white  hand,  and  patted  it  against 
her  own,  the  very  tenderest  light  shone  in  Miss  Fanny's  dancing 
eyes,  and  it  was  plain  that  she  had  not  exaggerated  the  truth,  in 
formerly  declaring  that  she  was  desperately  in  love  with  Redbud. 
Ah !  that  fond  old  school  attachment — whether  of  boy  or  girl — 
for  the  close  friend  of  sunny  hours ;  shall  we  laugh  at  it  ?  Are 
the  feelings  of  our  after  lives  so  much  more  disinterested,  pure 
and  elevated? 

So  Miss  Fanny  chatted  on  with  Redbud,  telling  her  a 
thousand  things,  which,  fortunately,  have  nothing  to  do  with  our 
present  chronicle — else  would  the  unfortunate  chronicler  find  his 
pen  laughed  at  for  its  tardy  movement.  Fanny's  rapid  flow  of 
laughing  and  picturesque  words,  could  no  more  be  kept  up  with 
by  a  sublunary  instrument  of  record,  than  the  shadow  of  a  dart 
ing  bird  can  be  caught  by  the  eager  hand  of  the  child  grasping  at 
it  as  it  flits  by  on  the  sward. 

And  in  the  middle  of  this  flow  of  words,  and  just  when  Fanny 
makes  a  veiled  allusion  to  an  elderly  "  thing,"  and  the  propen 
sity  of  the  person  in  question,  to  rob  more  juvenile  young 
ladies  of  their  beaux — enter  Miss  Lavinia — who  asks  what 


264  APPLE  ORCHARD. 

k 

thing  Miss  Fanny  speaks  of,  with  a  smile  upon  the  austere 
countenance. 

Fanny  declines  explaining,  but  blushes  instead,  and  asks  Miss 
Laviriia  where  she  got  that  darling  shawl,  which  is  really  a  per 
fect  love  of  a  thing ;  and  so,  with  smiles  from  Redbud,  the  con 
versation  continues  until  dinner-time,,  when  the  Squire  makes  his 
appearance,  and  after  kissing  Miss  Kedbud,  affects  to  take  Miss 
Fanny  by  the  elbows  and  bump  her  head  against  the  ceiling,  baby- 
fashion.  In  this  attempt,  we  need  not  say,  the  worthy  gentleman 
fails,  from  the  fact,  that  young  ladies  of  seventeen,  are,  for  some 
reason,  heavier  than  babies,  and  are  kissed  with  much  more  ease, 
and  far  less  trouble,  standing  on  their  feet,  than  chucked  toward 
the  ceiling  for  that  purpose. 

Having  dined  and  chatted  pleasantly,  and  told  a  number  of 
amusing  tales  for  Miss  Redbud's  edification — and  against  the 
silent  protest  and  remonstrance  of  said  Miss  Lavinia — the  Squire 
declares  that  he  must  go  and  see  to  his  threshing  ;  and,  accord 
ingly,  after  swearing  at  Caesar,  goes  away  ;  and  is  heard  greeting 
somebody  as  he  departs. 

This  somebody  turns  out  to  be  Verty  ;  and  the  young  man's 
face  blushes  with  delight  at  sight  of  Kedbud,  whom  he  runs  to, 
and  devours  with  his  glances.  Redbud  blushes  slightly;  but 
this  passes  soon,  and  the  kind  eyes  beam  on  him  softly — no  con 
fusion  in  them  now — and  the  small  hand  is  not  drawn  away  from 
him,  but  remains  in  his  own. 

And  Fanny — amiable  Fanny — knowing  all  about  it,  smiles  ; 
and  Miss  Lavinia,  staidest  of  her  sex,  suspecting  something  of  it, 
looks  grave  and  dignified,  but  does  not  frown ;  and  Verty,  with 
perfect  forgetfulness  of  the  presence  of  these  persons,  and  much 
carelessness  in  regard  to  their  opinions,  gazes  upon  Redbud  with 
his  dreamy  smile,  and  talks  to  her. 

So  the  day  passes  onward,  and  the  shades  of  evening  take  away 
the  merry  voices — the  bright  sunset  shining  on  them  as  they  go. 
They  must  come  again  without  waiting  for  her  to  return  their 


APPLE  ORCHARD.  265 

visit — says  Redbud  smiling — and  the  happy  laughter  which  re 
plies  to  her,  makes  Apple  Orchard  chuckle  through  its  farthest 
chambers,  and  the  portraits  on  the  wall — bright  now  in  vagrant 
gleams  of  crimson  sundown — utter  a  low,  well-bred  cachinna- 
tion,  such  as  is  befitting  in  the  solemn,  dignified  old  cavaliers  and 
ladies,  looking  from  their  laces,  and  hair-powder,  and  stiff  ruffs, 
upon  their  little  grandchild. 

So  the  merry  voices  become  faint,  and  the  bright  sunset  slowly 
wanes  away,  a  rosy  flush  upon  the  splendid  sky,  dragging 
another  day  of  work  or  idleness,  despair  or  joy,  into  oblivion  ! 

Redbud  lies  and  gazes  at  the  noble  woods,  bathed  in  that  rosy 
flush  and  smiles.  Then  her  eyes  turn  toward  a  portrait  settling 
into  shadow,  but  lit  up  with  one  bright  beam — and  the  dear 
mother's  eyes  shine  on  her  with  a  tender  light,  and  bless  her. 
And  she  clasps  her  hands,  and  her  lips  murmur  something,  and 
her  eyes  turn  to  the  western  sky  again.  And  evening  slowly 
goes  away,  leaving  the  beautiful  pure  face  with  evident  regret, 
but  lighting  up  the  kind  blue  eyes,  and  golden  hair,  and  delicate 
cheek,  with  a  last  vagrant  gleam. 
•  So  the  dim  cheerful  night  came  down — the  day  was  dead. 


CHAPTER  XLV. 

HOURS  IN  THE  OCTOBER  WOODS.     ' 

IN  a  week  Redbud  was  going  about  again :  slowly,  it  is  true, 
and  taking  care  not  to  fatigue  herself,  but  still  she  was  no  longer 
confined  to  the  house. 

She  rose  one  morning,  and  came  down  with  a  face  full  of  hap 
py  expectation. 

That  day  had  been  appointed  for  a  holiday  in  the  woods,  and 
Fanny,  Verty  and  Ralph  were  coming.  Soon  they  came. 

Ralph  was  resplendent  in  a  new  suit  of  silk,  which  he  had 
procured  after  numerous  directions  from  our  friend  Mr.  O'Bral- 
laghan  ;  Verty  resembled  the  young  forest  emperor,  which  it  was 
his  wont  to  resemble,  at  least  in  costume  ; — and  Fanny  was  clad 
in  the  finest  and  most  coquettish  little  dress  conceivable.  After 
mature  deliberation,  we  are  inclined  to  believe  that  her  conquest 
of  Ralph  was  on  this  day  completed  and  perfected  : — the  conduct 
of  that  gentleman  for  some  days  afterwards  having  been  very 
suspicious.  We  need  only  say,  that  he  sat  at  his  window,  gazing 
moonward — wrote  sonnets  in  a  very  melancholy  strain,  and  lost 
much  of  his  ardor  and  vivacity.  These  symptoms  are  sufficient 
for  a  diagnosis  when  one  is  familiar  with  the  disease,  and  they 
were  exhibited  by  Mr.  Ralph,  on  the  occasion  mentioned.  But 
we  anticipate. 

The  gay  party  went  out  in  the  grove,  and  wandering  about  in 
the  brilliant  October  sunlight,  gathered  primroses  and  other 
autumn  flowers,  which,  making  into  bunches,  they  topped  with 


HOURS  IN  THE  OCTOBER  WOODS.  267 

fine  slender,  palm-like  golden  rods  : — and  so,  passing  on,  came  to 
the  old  glen  behind,  and  just  beneath  the  acclivity  which  made 
the  western  horizon  of  Apple  Orchard. 

"  Look  what  a  lovely  tulip  tree !"  said  Fanny,  laughing, 
"  and  here  is  the  old  lime-kiln — look !" 

Ralph  smiled. 

"  I  am  looking," — he  said. 

"You  are  not!" 

"  Yes — at  you." 

"I  asked  you  to  look  at  the  old  kiln  —  " 

"  I  prefer  your  charming  face,  my  heart's  treasure." 

Redbud  laughed,  and  turning  her  white,  tender  face,  to  the 
dreamy,  Verty  said  : 

"  Are  they  not  affectionate,  Verty  V ' 

Verty  smiled. 

"  I  like  that,"  he  said. 
I    "  So  do  I— but  Mr.  Ralph  is  so  —  " 

"  What,  Miss  Redbud  f'  said  Ralph,  laughing,  "eh?" 

"  Oh,  I  did'nt  know  —  " 

"  I  heard  you  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Well,  at  least  I  did.  "  I  don't  see  why  I  should  not  be  affec 
tionate  to  Fanny  — -  " 

"  Humph  !"  from  Fanny. 

"  She  is  my  dearest  cousin — is  Miss  Fanny  Temple  ;  and  we 
have  been  in  love  with  each  other  for  the  last  twenty  years,  more 
or  less !" 

Fanny  burst  into  laughter. 

"  Twenty  years !"  she  cried. 

"Well?"  said  Ralph. 

"I'm  only  seventeen,  sir." 

"  Seventeen  ?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  Seventeen — three  from  seventeen,"  said   Ralph,  thoughtfully 


268  HOURS  IN  THE  OCTOBER  WOODS. 

calculating  on  his  fingers,  "all!  yes!  you  are  right — you  have 
been  in  love  with  me  but  fourteen  years.  Yes!  yes!  you  have 
reason  to  say,  as  you  did,  that  it  was  not  twenty  years — quite." 

After  which  speech,  which  was  delivered  in  an  innocent  tone, 
Mr.  Ralph  scratched  his  chin. 

Fanny  stood  for  a  moment  horrified  at  the  meaning  given  to 
her  exclamation — then  colored — then  cried  "Humph!" — then 
burst  into  laughter.  The  party  joined  in  it. 

"Well,  well,"  said  the  bright  girl,  whose  dancing  eyes  were 
full  of  pleasure,  "  don't  let  us  get  to  flirting  to-day." 

"Flirting?"  said  Ealph. 

"  Yes." 

"  I  never  flirt." 

"  No,  never !" 

"  There,  you  are  getting  ironical — you  fly  off  from  —  " 

"  The  subject,  I  suppose — like  that  flying  squirrel  yonder — 
look !" 

Indeed,  a  mottled  little  animal,  of  the  description  mentioned, 
had  darted  from  the  tulip  toward  a  large  oak,  and  falling  as  he 
flew — which  we  believe  characterizes  the  flight  of  this  squirrel — 
had  lit  upon  the  oak  near  the  root,  and  run  rapidly  up  the 
trunk. 

"  Did  you  ever  !"  cried  Fanny. 

"I  don't  recollect,"  said  Ralph. 

"  Why  how  can  he  fly  ?" 

"  Wings,"  suggested  Verty, 

"  But  they  are  so  small,  and  he's  so  heavy." 

"  He  starts  high  up,"  said  Verty,  "  and  makes  a  strong  jump 
when  he  flies.  That's  the  way  he  does." 

"  How  curious,"  said  Redbud. 

"  Yes,"  cried  Fanny,  "  and  see !  there's  a  striped  ground 
squirrel,  and  listen  to  that  crow, — caw  !  caw  !" 

With  which  Fanny  twists  her  lips  into  astonishing  shapes. 


HOURS  IN  THE  OCTOBER  WOODS.  269 

and  imitates  the  crow  in  a  manner  which  the  youngest  of  living 
crows  would  have  laughed  to  scorn. 

Redbud  gathered  some  beautiful  flowers,  and  with  the  as 
sistance  of  Verty  made  a  little  wreath,  which  she  tied  with  a 
ribbon.  Stealing  behind  Fanny,  she  placed  this  on  her  head. 

"  Oh,  me  ?"  cried  Miss  Fanny. 

"  Yes,  for  you,"  said  Ralph. 

"  From  Redbud  I  Oh  !  thank  you.  But  I'll  make  you  one. 
Come,  sir," — to  Ralph, — "  help  me." 

"  To  get  flowers  !" 

"Yes." 

"  Willingly." 

"  There  is  a  bunch  of  primroses." 

"Shall  I  get  it?"  said  Ralph. 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  I  think  you  had  better,"  said  Ralph. 

"  Well,  sir  !" 

"  Now,  Fanny — don't  get  angry — I  will — " 

"No,  you  shan't!" 

"  Indeed  I  will !" 

The  result  of  this  contention,  as  to  who  should  gather  the 
primroses,  was,  that  Fanny  and  Ralph,  stooping  at  the  same 
moment,  struck  their  faces  together,  and  cried  out — the  young 
lady  at  least. 

Fanny  blushed  very  much  as  she  rose — Ralph  was  tri 
umphant. 

"  I've  got  them,  however,  sir,"  she  said,  holding  the  flowers. 

"  And  I  had  a  disagreeable  accident,"  said  Ralph,  laughing, 
and  pretending  to  rub  his  head. 

"  Disagreeable,  sir !"  cried  Fanny,  without  reflecting. 

"  Yes!"  said  Ralph—"  why  not  f 

Fanny  found  herself  involved  again  in  an  awkward  explana 
tion — the  fact  being,  that  Ralph's  lips  had,  by  pure  accident, 
of  course,  touched  her  brow. 


270  HOUES  IN  THE  OCTOBER  WOODS. 

It  would,  therefore,  have  only  complicated  matters  for  Fanny 
to  have  explained  why  the  accident  ought  not  to  be  "  disagree 
able,"  as  Ilalph  declared  it  to  be.  The  general  reply,  however, 
which  we  have  endeavored,  on  various  occasions,  to  represent  by 
the  word  "  Humph !"  issued  from  the  young  girl's  lips ;  and 
busying  herself  with  the  wreath,  she  passed  on,  followed  by  the 
laughing  company. 

From  the  forest,  they  went  to  the  mossy  glen,  as  we  may  call 
it,  though  that  was  not  its  name ;  and  Verty  enlivened  the  com 
pany  with  a  description  of  a  flock  of  young  partridges  which  had 
there  started  up  once,  and  running  between  his  feet,  disappeared 
before  his  very  eyes.  Redbud,  too,  recollected  the  nice  cherries 
they  had  eaten  from  the  trees — as  nice  as  the  oxhearts  near  the 
house — in  the  Spring ;  and  Fanny  did  too,  and  told  some  very 
amusing  stories  of  beaux  being  compelled  to  climb  and  throw 
down  boughs  laden  with  their  red  bunches. 

In  this  pleasant  way  they  strolled  along  the  brook  which  stole 
by  in  sun  and  shadow,  over  mossy  rocks,  and  under  bulrushes, 
where  the  minnows  haunted — which  brook,  tradition  (and  the 
maps)  call  to-day  by  the  name  of  one  member  of  that  party  ;  and 
so,  passing  over  the  slip  of  meadow,  where  Verty  declared  the 
hares  were  accustomed  to  gambol  by  moonlight,  once  more  came 
again  toward  the  locust-grove  of  "dear  old  Apple  Orchard," — (Fan 
ny's  phrase,) — and  entered  in  again,  and  threw  down  their  treas 
ures  of  bright  flowers  and  bird's-nests — for  they  had  taken  some 
old  ones  from  the  trees — and  laughed,  sang,  and  were  happy. 

"  Why  !  what  a  day  !"  cried  Ralph  ;  "  if  we  only  had  a  kite 
now I" 

"  A  kite  !"  cried  Fanny. 

"Yes." 

"An  elegant  college  gentleman — " 

"  Oh — suspend  the  college  gentleman,  if  I  may  use  the  para 
phrase,"  said  Mr.  Ilalph  ;  "  why  can't  you  permit  a  man  to  re 
turn  again,  my  heart's  delight,  to  his  far  youth." 


HOUES  IN  THE  OCTOBER  WOODS.  271 

"Far  youth." 

"  Ages  ago — but  in  spite  of  that,  I  tell  you  I  want  to  see  a 
fine  kite  sailing  up  there." 

"  Make  it,  then !" 

"  By  Jove !  I  will,  if  Miss  Redbud  will  supply — " 

"  The  materials  ?  Certainly,  in  one  moment,  Mr.  Ralph," 
said  Redbud,  smiling  softly  ;  "  how  nice  it  will  be  I" 

"  Twine,  scissors,  paper,"  said  Ralph ;  "  we'll  have  it  done 
immediately." 

Redbud  went,  and  soon  returned  with  the  materials ;  and  the 
whole  laughing  party  began  to  work  upon  the  kite. 

Such  was  their  dispatch,  that,  in  an  hour  it  was  ready,  taken 
to  the  meadow,  and  there,  with  the  united  assistance  of  gentle 
men  and  ladies,  launched  into  the  sky. 


CHAPTER  XLVI. 

THE    HAPPY  AUTUMN  FIELDS. 

THE  rolling  ground  beyond  the  meadow,  where  the  oaks  rus 
tled,  was  the  point  of  departure  of  the  kite — the  post  from  which 
it  sailed  forth  on  its  serial  voyage.  ^ 

The  whole  affair  was  a  success,  and  never  did  merrier  hearts 
watch  a  kite. 

It  was  beautifully  made — of  beautiful  paper,  all  red,  and  blue 
and  yellow — and  the  young  girls  had  completely  surrounded  it 
with  figures  of  silver  paper,  and  decorated  it,  from  head  to  foot, 
with  flowers. 

Thus,  when  it  ascended  slowly  into  the  cerulean  heavens,  as 
said  the  poetical  Ralph,  its  long,  flower-decorated  streamers  rip 
pling  in  the  wind,  it  was  greeted  with  loud  cries  of  joy  and  admi 
ration — thunders  of  applause  and  enthusiastic  encouragement  to 
"  go  on !"  from  Ralph,  who  had  grown  very  young  again — from 
Fanny,  even  more  exaggerated  cries. 

That  young  lady  seemed  to  be  on  the  point  of  flying  after  it — 
the  breeze  seemed  about  to  bear  her  away,  and  she  clapped  her 
hands  and  followed  the  high  sailing  paper-bird  with  such  delight, 
that  Ralph  suggested  she  should  be  sent  up  as  a  messenger. 

"  No,"  said  Fanny,  growing  a  little  calmer,  but  laughing  still, 
"  I'm  afraid  I  should  grow  dizzy." 

And  looking  at  the  kite,  which  soared  far  up,  and  seemed  to  be 
peeping  from  side  to  side,  around  the  small  white  clouds,  Fanny 
1  aughed  more  than  ever. 


THE   HAPPY   AUTUMN   FIELDS.  273 

But  why  should  we  waste  our  time  in  saying  that  the  gay 
party  were  pleased  with  everything,  and  laughed  out  loudly  for 
that  reason  ? 

Perhaps  a  merrier  company  never  made  the  golden  days  of 
autumn  ring  with  laughter,  either  at  Apple  Orchard,  where 
hill  and  meadow  echoed  to  the  joyous  carol,  or  in  any  other 
place.  Sitting  beneath  the  oaks,  and  looking  to  the  old  house 
buried  in  its  beautiful  golden  trees,  the  girls  sang  with  their 
pure,  melodious  voices,  songs  which  made  the  fresh,  yet  dreamy 
autumn  dearer  still,  and  wrapped  the  hearts  of  those  who  listened 
in  a  smiling,  calm  delight.  Give  youth  only  skies  and  pure  fresh 
breezes,  and  the  ready  laughter  shows  how  happy  these  things, 
simple  as  they  are,  can  m^:e  it.  It  wants  no  present  beyond 
this  ;  for  has  it  not  what  is  greater  still,  the  radiant  and  rosy 
future,  with  its  splendid  tints  of  joy  and  rapture  ? 

Youth !  youth  !  Erect  in  the  beautiful  frail  skiff,  he  dares  the 
tide,  gazing  with  glorious  brow  upon  the  palace  in  the  cloud, 
which  hovers  overhead,  a  fairy  spectacle  of  dreamland — real  still 
to  him !  Beautiful  youth !  As  he  stands  thus  with  his  out 
stretched  arms,  the  light  upon  his  noble  face,  and  the  young  lips 
illumined  by  their  tender  smile,  who  can  help  loving  him,  and 
feeling  that  more  of  the  light  of  Heaven  lingers  on  his  counte 
nance,  than  on  the  man's  ?  Youth  !  youth  !  beautiful  youth  ! — 
who,  at  times,  does  not  look  back  to  it  with  joyful  wonder,  long 
for  it  with  passionate  regret — for  its  inexperience  and  weakness ! 
— its  illusions  and  romance ! — its  fond  trust,  and  April  smiles 
and  tears !  Who  does  not  long  to  laugh  again,  and,  leaning  over 
the  bark's  side,  play  with  the  foaming  waves  again,  as  in  the  old 
days  !  Beautiful  youth !  sailing  for  Beulah,  the  land  of  flowers, 
and  landing  there  in  dreams — how  can  we  look  upon  your  radi 
ant  brow  and  eyes,  without  such  regret  as  nothing  taking  root 
in  this  world  can  console  us  for  completely !  Ah !  after  all, 
there  is  no  philosophy  like  ignorance — there  is  no  joy  like  youth 
and  innocence ! 

12 


274  THE  HAPPY  AUTUMN  FIELDS. 

The  shouts  and  laughter  ringing  through  the  merry  fields,  on 
the  fine  autumn  morning,  may  have  led  us  into  this  discourse 
upon  youth  :  the  very  air  was  full  of  laughter,  and  when  Fanny 
let  the  kite  string  go  by  accident,  the  rapture  grew  intense. 

Verty  and  Redbud  sitting  quietly,  at  the  distance  of  some 
paces,  under  the  oaks,  looked  on,  laughing  and  talking. 

"  How  bright  Fanny  is,"  said  Redbud,  laughing — "  Look  !  I 
think  she  is  lovely  ;  and  then  she  is  as  good  as  she  can  be." 

"  I  like  her,"  said  Verty,  tenderly,  "  because  she  likes  you, 
Redbud.  I  like  Ralph,  too— don't  you  f 

"  Oh,  yes — I  think  he  is  very  pleasant  and  agreeable  ;  he  has 
just  come  from  college,  and  Fanny  says,  has  greatly  improved — 
though,"  whispered  Redbud,  bending  toward  Yerty,  and  smiling, 
"  she  says,  when  he  is  present,  that  he  has  not  improved ;  just 
the  opposite." 

Verty  sighed. 

The  delicate  little  face  of  Redbud  was  turned  toward  him 
inquiringly. 

"  Verty,  you  sighed,"  she  said. 

"  Did  I  ?"  said  Verty. 

"  Yes." 

Verty  sighed  again. 

"  Tell  me  what  troubles  you,"  said  Redbud,  softly. 

"Nothing — nothing,"  replied  Verty;  "I  was  only  thinking 
about  college,  you  know." 

"  About  college  ?" 

"  Yes." 

And  Verty  repeated  the  sigh. 

"  Tell  me  your  thoughts,"  said  Redbud,  earnestly. 

"  I  was  only  thinking,"  returned  her  companion,  "  that  there 
was  no  chance  of  my  ever  going  to  college,  and  I  should  like 
to  know  how  I  am  to  be  a  learned  man  without  having  an 
education." 


THE   HAPPY  AUTUMN  FIELDS.  275 

Redbud  sighed  too. 

"But  perhaps,"  she  said,  "you  might  make  yourself  learned 
without  going  to  college." 

Verty  shook  his  head. 

"  You  are  not  so  ignorant  as  you  think,"  Redbud  said,  softly. 
"  I  know  many  persons  as  old  as  you  are,  who — who — are  not 
half  as — intelligent." 

Verty  repeated  the  shake  of  his  head. 

"  I  may  know  as  much  as  the  next  one  about  hunting,"  he 
said ;  "  and  ma  mere  says  that  none  of  her  tribe  had  as  much 
knowledge  of  the  habits  of  the  deer.  Yes !  yes  !  that  is  some 
thing — to  know  all  about  life  in  the  autumn  woods,  the  grand 
life  which,  some  day,  will  be  told  about  in  great  poetry,  or  ought 
to  be.  But  what  good  is  there  in  only  knowing  how  to  follow 
the  deer,  or  watch  for  the  turkeys,  or  kill  bears,  as  I  used  to 
before  the  neighborhood  was  filled  up  ?  I  want  to  be  a  learned 
man.  I  don't  think  anybody  would,  or  ought  to,  marry  me," 
added  Verty,  sighing. 

Redbud  laughed,  and  colored. 

"  Perhaps  you  can  go  to  college,  though,"  she  said. 

"I'm  afraid  not,"  said  Verty  ;  "  but  I  won't  complain.  Why 
should  I?  Besides,  I  would  have  to  leave  you  all  here,  and  I 
never  could  make  up  my  mind  to  that." 

("  Let  it  go,  Ralph  !"  from  Fanny. 

To  which  the  individual  addressed,  replies  : 

"  Oh,  certainly,  by  all  means,  darling  of  my  heart !") 

Redbud  smiled. 

"  I  think  we  are  very  happy  here,"  she  said  ;  "  there  cannot 
be  anything  in  the  Lowlands  prettier  than  the  mountains — " 

"  Oh !  I  know  there  is  not !"  exclaimed  Verty,  with  the  en 
thusiasm  of  the  true  mountaineer. 

"  Besides,"  said  Redbud,  taking  advantage  of  this  return  to 
brighter  thoughts,  "I  don't  think  learning  is  so  important,  Verty. 


276  THE  HAPPY  AUTUMN  FIELDS. 

It  often  makes  us  forget  simple  things,  and  think  we  are  better 
than  the  rest  of  the  world — " 

"  Yes,"  said  Verty. 

"  That  is  wrong,  you  know.  I  think  that  it  would  be  dearly 
bought,  if  we  lost  charity  by  getting  it,"  said  the  girl,  earnestly. 

Verty  looked  thoughtful,  and  leaning  his  head  on  his  hand, 
said: 

"  I  don't  know  but  I  prefer  the  mountains,  then.  Redbud,  I 
think  if  I  saw  a  great  deal  of  you,  you  would  make  me  good — " 

"Oh!  I'm  afraid— " 

"  I'd  read  my  Bible,  and  think  about  God,"  Verty  said. 

"  Don't  you  now,  Verty?" 

"Yes;  I  read." 

"  But  don't  you  think  ?" 

"  Verty  shook  his  head. 

"  I  can't  remember  it  often,"  he  replied.     "  I  know  I  ought." 

Redbud  looked  at  him  with  her  soft,  kind  eyes,  and  said : 

"  But  you  pray  ?" 

"  Sometimes." 

"  Not  every  night  f 

"  No."  ' 

Redbud  looked  pained. 

"  Oh !  you  ought  to,"  she  said. 

"  I  know  I  ought,  and  I'm  going  to,"  said  the  young  man ; 
"  the  fact  is,  Redbud,  we  have  a  great  deal  to  be  thankful  for." 

"Oh,  indeed  we  have!"  said  Redbud,  earnestly — "all  this 
beautiful  world  :  the  sunshine,  the  singing  of  the  birds,  the  health 
of  our  dear  friends  and  relatives,  and  everything — " 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Verty,  "  I  ought  to  be  thankful  more  than 
anybody  else." 

"  Why  ?" 

"  You  know  I'm  an  Indian." 

Redbud  looked  dubious. 


THE   HAPPY  AUTUMN  FIELDS.  277 

"  At  least  ma  mere  is  my  mother,"  said  Verty ;  and  if  I  am  not 
an  Indian,  I  don't  know  what  I  am.  You  know,"  he  added,  "  I 
can't  be  like  a  deer  in  the  woods,  that  nobody  knows  anything 
about." 

Redbud  smiled  ;  then,  after  a  moment's  thought,  said : 

"  I  don't  think  you  are  an  Indian,  Verty." 

And  as  she  spoke,  the  young  girl  absently  passed  the  coral 
necklace,  we  have  spoken  of,  backward  and  forward  between 
her  lips. 

Verty  pondered. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  said,  at  last ;  "  but  I  know  it  was  very 
good  in  Grod  to  give  me  such  a  kind  mother  as  ma  mere ;  and 
such  friends  as  you  all.  I'm  afraid  I  am  not  good  myself." 

Redbud  passed  the  necklace  through  her  fingers  thoughtfully. 

"  That  is  pretty,"  said  Verty,  looking  at  it.  "  I  think  I  have 
seen  it  somewhere  before." 

Redbud  replied  with  a  smile : 

"  Yes,  I  generally  wear  it ;  but  I  was  thinking  how  strange 
your  life  was,  Verty." 

And  she  looked  kindly  and  softly  with  her  frank  eyes  at  the 
young  man,  who  was  playing  with  the  beads  of  the  necklace. 

"  Yes,"  he  replied,  "  and  that  is  just  why  I  ought  to  be 
thankful.  If  I  was  somebody's  son,  you  know,  everybody  would 
know  me — but  I  aint,  and  yet,  everybody  is  kind.  I  often  try 
to  be  thankful,  and  I  believe  I  am,"  he  added ;  "  but  then  I'm 
often  sinful.  The  other  day,  I  believe  I  would  have  shot  Mr. 
Jinks — that  was  very  wrong  ;  yes,  I  know  that  was  very  wrong." 

And  Verty  shook  his  head  sadly. 

"  Then  I  am  angry  sometimes,"  he  said,  "  though  not  often." 

"  Not  very  often,  I  know,"  said  Redbud,  softly ;  "  you  are 
very  sweet  tempered  and  amiable." 

"  Do  you  think  so,  Redbud  ?" 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  smiled  Redbud. 

"I'm  glad  you  think  so ;  I  thought  I  was  not  enough  ;  but  I 


278  THE  HAPPY  AUTUMN   FIELDS. 

have  been  talking  about  myself  too  much,  which,  Miss  Lavinia 
says,  is  wrong.  But,  indeed,  Redbud,  I'll  try  and  be  good  in 
future — look  !  there  is  Fanny  quarreling  with  Ralph  !" 

They  rose,  and  approached  the  parties  indicated,  who  were, 
however,  not  more  quarrelsome  than  usual :  Fanny  was  only 
struggling  with  Ralph  for  the  string  of  the  kite.  The  contention 
ended  in  mutual  laughter ;  and  as  a  horn  at  that  moment  sounded 
for  the  servants  to  stop  work  for  dinner,  the  party  determined  to 
return  to  Apple  Orchard. 

The  kite  was  tied  to  a  root,  and  they  returned  homeward. 


CHAPTER  XLVII. 

DAYS   THAT   ARE   NO    MORE. 

"  On !"  cried  Fanny,  as  they  were  again  walking  upon  the 
smooth  meadow,  in  the  afternoon,  "  I  think  we  ought  to  go  and 
get  some  apples  !" 

"  And  so  do  I,"  said  Ralph. 

"  Of  course,  I  expected  you  to  agree  with  me,  sir." 

"  Naturally  ;  I  always  do." 

This  observation  was  remotely  satirical,  and  Miss  Fanny  re 
sented  it. 

"You  are  the  most  contentious  person  I  ever  knew,"  she  said. 

"Am  If  asked  Ralph. 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  That  is  fortunate." 

"Why?" 

"  Because,  difference  of  opinion  is  the  soul  of  conversation, 
and  as  you  never  disagree  with  anybody,  we  could  not  converse. 
Observe  how  the  syllogism  comes  out  ?" 


"  Fine  logician  !" 


"  Lovely  damsel !" 
"Mr.  College-Graduate!" 
"  Miss  School-Girl !" 
«  School-girl !" 
"  College-graduate !" 

And  after  this  exchange  of  compliments,  the  parties  walked  on, 
mutually  pleased  with  each  other. 


280  DAYS  THAT  ARE  NO  MORE. 

Redbud  and  Verty  followed]  them,  and  they  soon  arrived  at 
the  old  orchard.  3 

Behind  the  party  followed  Longears,  whose  presence,  through 
out  the  day,  we  have  very  improperly  neglected  to  mention ;  but 
as  that  inquisitive  animal  was,  during  the  whole  morning,  roam 
ing,  at  his  own  wild  will,  the  neighboring  fields — prying  into  the 
holes  of  various  wild  animals,  and  exchanging  silent  commenta 
ries  with  the  Apple  Orchard  dogs — this  omission  will  not  appear 
very  heinous. 

Longears  had  now  regaled  himself  with  a  comfortable  dinner, 
the  last  bone  of  which  he  had  licked — and  having  thus,  like  a 
regular  and  respectable  citizen,  taken  care  of  the  material,  was 
busily  engaged  again  in  the  intellectual  pursuit  of  his  enemies,  the 
squirrels,  butterflies  and  bees,  at  which  he  barked  and  dashed  at 
times  with  great  vigor  and  enthusiasm. 

"Look  at  him,"  said  Redbud;  "why  does  he  dislike  the 
butterflies  T 

"  Only  fun,"  said  Verty  ;  "  he  often  does  that.  Here,  Long- 
ears!" 

Longears  approached,  and  Verty  pointed  to  the  ground. 
Longears  laid  down. 
"  Stay  there  !"  said  Verty. 
And  smiling,  he  walked  on. 

Redbud  laughed,  and  turning  round  made  signs  to  the  dog  to 
follow  them.     Longears,  however,  only  moved  his  head  uneasily, 
and  wagged  his  tail  with  eloquent  remonstrance. 
11  Let  him  come,  Verty,"  said  the  girl. 

Verty  smiled,  and  made  a  movement  of  the  hand,  which,  from 
the  distance  of  a  hundred  yards,  raised  Longears  three  feet  into 
the  air.  Returning  from  this  elevation  to  the  earth  again,  he 
darted  off  over  the  fields  after  the  bees  and  swallows. 

The  young  men  and  their  companions  smiled,  and  strolled  on. 
They  reached  the  old  orchard,  and  ran  about  among  the  trees 
picking  up  apples — now  the  little  soft  yellow  crab  apples — then 


DAYS  THAT  ARE  NO  MORE.  281 

the  huge,  round,  ruddy  pippins — next  the  golden-coat  bell  apples, 
oblong  and  mellow,  which  had  dropped  from  pure  ripeness  from 
the  autumn  boughs. 

Verty  had  often  climbed  into  the  old  trees,  and  filled  his  cap 
with  the  speckled  eggs  of  black-birds,  or  found  upon  the  fence 
here,  embowered  in  the  foliage,  the  slight  nests  of  doves,  each 
with  its  two  eggs,  white  and  transparent  almost ;  and  the  recol 
lection  made  him  smile. 

They  gathered  a  number  of  the  apples,  and  then  strolled  on, 
and  eat  a  moment  with  the  pleasant  overseer's  wife. 

A  number  of  little  curly-headed  boys  had  been  rolling  like 
apples  on  the  grass  as  they  approached  ;  fat-armed  and  chubby- 
legged,  and  making  devoted  advances  to  Longears,  who,  de 
scending  from  his  dignity,  rolled  with  them  in  the  sunshine. 
These  now  approached,  and  the  young  girls  patted  their  heads, 
and  Mr.  Ralph  gave  them  some  paternal  advice,  and  the  good 
housewife,  spinning  in  her  cane-bottom  chair  with  straight  tall 
back,  smiled  pleasantly,  and  curtsied. 

The  baby  (there  always  was  a  baby  at  the  overseer's)  soon 
made  his  appearance,  as  babies  will  do  everywhere  ;  and  then 
the  unfortunate  young  curly-heads  of  riper  age  were  forced  to 
return  once  more  to  the  grass  and  play  with  Longears — they 
were  forgotten. 

To  describe  the  goings  on  of  the  two  young  ladies  with  that 
baby  is  wholly  out  of  the  question.  They  quarreled  for  it, 
chucked  it  in  their  arms,  examined  its  toes  with  critical  atten 
tion,  and  conversed  with  it  in  barbarous  baby  language,  which 
was  enough,  Ralph  said,  to  drive  a  man  distracted.  They  asked 
it  various  questions — were  delighted  with  its  replies — called  its 
attention  to  the  chickens — and  evidently  labored  under  the  im 
pression  that  it  understood.  They  addressed  the  baby  uniformly 
in  the  neuter  gender,  and  requested  to  know  whether  it  was  not 
their  darling.  To  all  which  the  baby  replied  with  thoughtful 
stares,  only  occasionally  condescending  to  laugh.  The  feet 

12* 


282  DAYS  THAT  ARE  NO  MORE. 

having  been  examined  again — there  is  much  in  babies'  feet — the 
party  smiled  and  went  away,  calling  after  baby  to  the  last. 

"Now,  that's   all  affectation,"   said  Ralph;  "you  young  la 
dies—" 

"  You're  a  barbarian,  sir  !"  replied  Fanny,  with  great  candor. 

"  I  know  I  am." 

"I'm  glad  you  do. 

"  But,"  continued  Ralph,  "  tell  me  now,  really,  do  you  young 
girls  admire  babies'?" 

"  Certainly  /do—" 

"  And  I,"  said  Redbud. 

"  They're   the    sweetest,    dearest  things   in    all   the   world," 
continued  Fanny,  "  and  the  man  who  don't  like  babies — " 
..  "  Is  a  monster,  eh?" 

"  Far  worse,  sir!" 

And  Fanny  laughed. 

"  That   is   pleasant   to  know,"    said   Ralph ;    "  then  I'm   a 
monster." 

Having  arrived  at  which  highly  encouraging  conclusion,  the 
young  man  whistled. 

"  I  say,"  he  said,  suddenly,  "  I  wanted  to  ask — " 

"Well,  sir1?"  said  Fanny. 

"  Before  we  leave  the  subject — " 

"  What  subject  ?" 

"  Babies." 

"  Well,  ask  on." 

"  I  wish  to  know  whether  babies  talk." 

"  Certainly !" 

"Really,  now?" 

"  Yes." 

"  And  you  understand  them  ?' 

"  /  do,"  said  Fanny. 

"  What  does  '  um,  urn,'  mean  ?     I  heard  that  baby  say  '  um, 
urn,'  distinctly." 


DAYS  THAT  ARE  NO  MORE.  283 

Fanny  burst  out  laughing. 

"Oh,  I  know!"  she^said,  "  when  I  gave  him  an  apple." 
"  Yes." 

"  It  meant,  '  that  is  a  very  nice  apple,  and  I  would  like  to 
have  some.' " 

"Did  it  r 

"  Of  course." 

"Suppose,  then,  it  had  been  a  crab-apple,  and  the  baby  had 
still  said  '  um,  um,'  what  would  it  then  have  meant  ?" 

"  Plainly  this  :  *  that  is  not  a  nice  apple,  and  I  would  not  like 
to  have  any.'  " 

"  That  is  perfectly  satisfactory,"  said  Ralph  ;  " '  um,  um,'  ex 
presses  either  the  desire  to  possess  a  sweet  apple,  or  the  objection 
to  a  sour  one.  I  have  heard  of  delicate  shades  of  language 
before,  but  this  is  the  sublimity  thereof." 

And  Ralph  laughed. 

"  I  never  saw  such  a  person,"  said  Fanny,  pouting. 

"  By  the  bye,"  said  Ralph. 

"Well,  sir?" 

"  What  was  there  so  interesting  in  the  toes  f" 

"  They  were  lovely." 

"  Anything  else  ?" 

"  Beautiful." 

"  That  all  ?  Come,  now,  tell  me  the  charm  in  those  feet 
which  you  young  ladies  designated,  I  remember,  as  *  teensy,'  and 
expressed  your  desire  to  '  tiss.'  Shocking  perversion  of  the 
king's  English — and  in  honor  of  nothing  but  two  dirty  little 
feet !"  said  Ralph. 

The  storm  which  was  visited  upon  Ralph's  unhappy  head  for 
this  barbarous  criticism  was  dreadful.  Fanny  declared,  in  express 
terms,  that  he  was  a  monster,  an  ogre,  and  with  a  stone  in  his 
breast  instead  of  a  heart.  To  which  Mr.  Ralph  replied,  that  the 
best  writers  of  ancient  and  modern  times  had  nowhere  designated 
as  a  monster  the  man  who  was  not  in  raptures  at  the  sight  of 


284  DAYS  THAT  ARE  NO  MORE. 

babies  ; — whereupon  Miss  Fanny  declared  her  disregard  of  writers 
in  general,  and  her  preference  for  babies — at  which  stage  of  the 
discussion  Ralph  began  to  whistle. 

Why  not  catch  the  laughter  of  those  youthful  lips,  and  tell  how 
the  young  men  and  maidens  amused  themselves  that  fine  autumn 
day  ?  Everything  innocent  and  fresh  is  beautiful — and  there 
are  eyes  which  shine  more  brightly  than  the  sun,  voices  which 
make  a  softer  music  than  the  breezes  of  October  in  the  laughing 
trees.  Redbud' s  face  and  voice  had  this  innocence  and  joy  in  it 
— there  was  pleasure  in  the  very  sound  of  it ;  and  such  a  delicate 
kind  of  light  in  the  soft  eyes,  that  as  they  went,  the  young  men 
felt  more  pure,  and  bowed  to  her,  as  something  better  than  them 
selves — of  higher  nature. 

The  light  of  Fanny's  eyes  was  more  brilliant ;  but  Red- 
bud's  were  of  such  softness  that  you  forgot  all  else  in  gazing  at 
them — lost  your  heart,  looking  into  their  lucid  depths  of  liquid 
light. 

One  heart  was  irremediably  lost  long  since,  and  gone  away 
into  the  possession  of  the  young  lady.  This  was  Verty's  ;  and  as 
they  went  along  he  gazed  so  tenderly  at  the  young  girl,  that  more 
than  once  she  blushed,  and  suffered  the  long  lashes  to  fall  down 
upon  her  rosy  cheek. 

Fanny  was  talking  with  Ralph  ; — for  these  young  gentlemen 
had  made  the  simple  and  admirable  arrangement,  without  in  the 
least  consulting  the  ladies,  that  Verty  should  always  entertain 
and  be  entertained  by  Redbud,  Ralph  quarrel  with,  and  be 
quarreled  with,  by  Fanny. 

Each,  on  the  present  occasion,  was  carrying  out  his  portion  of 
the  contract ;  that  is  to  say,  Verty  and  Redbud  were  quietly 
smiling  at  each  other ;  Ralph  and  Fanny  were  exchanging  re 
partees. 

They  came  thus  to  the  knoll  which  they  had  stopped  upon  in 
the  forenoon. 

The  fine  kite — tied  to  a  root,  as  we  have  said — was  hovering 


DAYS  THAT  ARE  NO  MORE.  285 

far  up  among  the  clouds,  swaying  and  fluttering  its  streamers  in 
the  wind  :  the  various  colors  of  the  paper,  and  the  flowers  almost 
wholly  indiscernible,  so  high  had  it  ascended. 

"  Look !"  said  Fanny,  "  there  it  is  up  among  the  swal 
lows,  which  are  flying  around  it  as  if  they  never  saw  a  kite  be 
fore." 

"  Female  swallows,  doubtless,"  observed  Ralph,  carelessly. 

"  Female  ?     Pray,  why  1" 

"  Because  they  have  so  much  curiosity  ;  see,  you  have  made 
me  utter  what  is  not  common  with  ine." 

"What,  sir1?" 

"A bad  witticism." 

Fanny  laughed,  and  replied,  gazing  at  the  kite : 

"  Your  witticisms  are,  of  course,  always  fine — no  doubt  very 
classic  ;  now  I  will  send  up  a  messenger  on  the  string.  Redbud, 
have  you  a  piece  of  paper1?" 

Redbud  drew  the  paper  from  her  apron  pocket,  and  gave  it  to 
Fanny,  with  a  smile. 

Fanny  tore  the  yellow  scrap  into  a  circle,  and  in  the  centre  of 
this  circle  made  a  hole  as  large  as  her  finger. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Ralph,  please  untie  the  string  from  the  root." 

"With  pleasure,"  said  the  young  man  ;  "  for  you,  my  heart's 
delight,  I  would — " 

"Come,  come,  sir!  you  make  an  oration  upon  every  occa 
sion  !" 

With  many  remonstrances  at  being  thus  unceremoniously  sup 
pressed,  Mr.  Ralph  knelt  down,  and  untied  the  string. 

"  Does  it  pull  strongly,  Mr.  Ralph  ?"  said  Redbud,  smiling. 

"  Oh,  yes !  you  know  it  was  nearly  as  tall  as  myself — just 
try." 

"  The  messenger  first !"  cried  Fanny. 

And  she  slipped  it  over  the  string. 

'•  Now,  Miss  Redbud,  just  try  !"  said  Ralph. 


286  DAYS  THAT  ARE  NO  MOKE. 

Redbud  wrapped  the  string  around  her  hand,  and  Ralph  let  it 

g°- 

"  How  do  you  like  it !"  he  said. 

"  Oh  !"  cried  Redbud,  "  it  is  so  strong ! — there  must  be  a 
great  wind  in  the  clouds  ! — Oh!"  added  the  girl,  laughing,  "it  is 
cutting  my  hand  in  two  !" 

And  she  caught  the  string  with  her  left  hand  to  relieve  the 
afflicted  member. 

"  Give  it  to  me !'  cried  Fanny. 

"  Yes,  give  it  to  her  ;  she  has  the  arm  of  an  Amazon,"  said 
Ralph,  enthusiastically. 

«  Humph  !" 

And  having  entered  this,  her  standing  protest,  Fanny  laughed, 
and  unwound  the  string  from  Redbud's  hand,  on  whose  white 
surface  two  crimson  circles  were  visible. 

"  I  can  hold  it !"  cried  the  young  girl,  "  easily  !" 
;    And  to  display  her  indifference,  Fanny  knelt  on  one  knee  to 
pick  up  her  gloves. 

The  consequence  of  this  movement  was,  that  the  heavy 
kite,  struck,  doubtless,  at  the  moment  by  a  gust  of  wind, 
jerked  the  lady  with  the  Amazonian  arm  so  violently,  that, 
unable  to  retain  her  position,  she  fell  upon  her  left  hand,  then 
upon  her  face,  and  was  dragged  a  pace  or  two  by  the  heavy 
weight. 

"  By  Jove!"  cried  Ralph,  running  to  her,  "  did  anybody — " 

11  Oh,  take  care!"  exclaimed  Redbud,  hastening  to  her  friend's 
assistance. 

"  It  is  nothing  !"  Fanny  said  ;   "  I  can  hold  it." 

And  to  prove  this,  she  let  go  the  string,  which  was  cutting  her 
hand  in  two. 

The  poor  kite!  loosed  from  the  sustaining  hand,  from  the 
earth,  which,  so  to  speak,  held  it  up — it  sees  its  hopes  of  eleva 
tion  in  the  world  all  dashed  with  disappointment  and  obscured. 
It  is  doomed ! 


DAYS  THAT  ARE  NO  MORE.  287 

t 

But  no  !  A  new  friend  comes  to  its  rescue — deserted  by  the 
lords  and  ladies  of  creation,  the  lesser  creature  takes  it  under  his 
protection. 

Longears  is  the  rescuer.  Longears  has  watched  the  mes 
senger  we  have  mentioned  with  deep  interest,  as  it  lays  upon 
the  string  and  flutters ;  Longears  imagines  that  it  is  a  bee  of 
the  species  called  yellow-jacket  challenging  him  to  combat. 
Consequently,  Longears  no  sooner  sees  the  string  dart  from 
Fanny's  hand,  than  believing  the  enemy  about  to  escape  him, 
he  springs  toward  it  and  catches  it  in  his  mouth. 

Longears  catches  a  tartar ;  but  too  brave  to  yield  without  a 
struggle,  rolls  upon  the  ground,  grinding  the  yellow  enemy,  and 
the  string  beneath  his  teeth. 

His  evolutions  on  the  grass  wrap  the  string  around  his  feet 
and  neck  ;  Longears  is  taken  prisoner,  and  finds  himself  dragged 
violently  over  the  ground. 

Brave  and  resolute  before  a  common  enemy,  Longears  fears 
this  unknown  adversary.  Overcome  with  superstitious  awe,  he 
howls ;  endeavoring  to  howl  again,  he  finds  his  windpipe 
grasped  by  his  enemy.  The  howl  turns  into  a  wheeze.  His 
eyes  start  from  his  head  ;  his  jaws  open  ;  he  rolls  on  the  grass  ; 
leaps  in  the  air ;  puts  forth  the  strength  of  a  giant,  but  in 
vain. 

It  is  at  this  juncture  that  Verty  runs  up  and  severs  the  string 
with  his  hunting-knive  ;  whereat  Longears,  finding  himself  re 
leased,  rubs  his  nose  vigorously  with  his  paws,  sneezes,  and  lies 
down  with  an  unconscious  air,  as  if  nothing  had  happened.  He 
is  saved. 

The  kite,  however,  is  sacrified.  Justly  punished  for  wounding 
Redbud's  hand,  throwing  Miss  Fanny  on  her  face,  and  periling 
the  life  of  Longears,  the  unfortunate  kite  struggles  a  moment  in 
the  clouds,  staggers  from  side  to  side,  like  a  drunken  man,  and 
then  caught  by  a  sudden  gust,  sweeps  like  a  streaming  comet 
down1  into  the  autumn  forest,  and  is  gone. 


288  DAYS  THAT  ARE  NO  MORE. 

Fanny  is  wiping  her  hands,  which  are  somewhat  soiled  ;  the 
rest  of  the  company  are  laughing  merrily  at  the  disappearance 
of  the  kite;  Longears  is  gravely  and  seriously  contemplating 
the  yellow  enemy  with  whom  he  has  struggled  so  violently,  and 
whose  conqueror  he  believes  himself  to  be. 

This  was  the  incident  so  frequently  spoken  of  by  Mr.  Ralph 
Ashley  afterwards,  as  the  Bucolic  of  the  kite. 


CHAPTER  XLVIII. 

THE  HARVEST  MOON. 

THE  day  was  nearly  gone  now,  dying  over  fir-clad  hills  ;  but 
yet,  before  it  went,  poured  a  last  flood  of  rich,  red  light,  such  as 
only  the  mountains  and  the  valley  boast,  upon  the  beautiful 
sloping  meadow,  stretching  its  green  and  dewy  sea  in  front  of 
Apple  Orchard. 

As  the  sun  went  away  in  royal  splendor,  bounding  over  the 
rim  of  evening,  like  a  red-striped  tiger — on  the  eastern  horizon  a 
light  rose  gradually,  as  though  a  great  conflagration  raged  there. 
Then  the  trees  were  kindled ;  then  the  broad,  yellow  moon — 
call  it  the  harvest  moon ! — soared  slowly  up,  dragging  its  captive 
stars,  and  mixing  its  fresh  radiance  with  the  waning  glories  of 
the  crimson  west. 

And  as  the  happy  party — grouped  upon  the  grassy  knoll,  like 
some  party  of  shepherds  and  shepherdesses,  in  the  old  days 
of  Arcady — gazed  on  the  beautiful  spectacle,  the  voices  of  the 
negroes  coming  from  their  work  were  heard,  driving  their  slow 
teams  in,  and  sending  on  the  air  the  clear  melodious  songs,  which, 
rude  and  ludicrous  as  they  seem,  have  yet  so  marvellous  an  effect, 
borne  on  the  airs  of  night. 

Those  evening  songs  and  sounds !  Not  long  ago,  one  says,  I 
stood,  just  at  sunset,  on  the  summit  of  a  pretty  knoll,  and,  look 
ing  eastward,  saw  the  harvesters  cutting  into  the  tall,  brown- 
headed,  rippling  wheat.  I  heard  the  merry  whistle  of  the  whirl 
ing  scythes ;  I  heard  their  songs — they  were  so  sweet !  And 


290  THE  HARVEST  MOON. 

why  are  these  harvest  melodies  so  soft-sounding,  and  so  grateful 
to  the  ear  ?  Simply  because  they  discourse  of  the  long  buried 
past ;  and,  like  some  magical  spell,  arouse  from  its  sleep  all  the 
beauteous  and  gay  splendor  of  those  hours.  As  the  clear,  meas 
ured  sound  floated  to  my  ear,  I  heard  also,  again,  the  vanished 
music  of  happy  childhood— that  elysian  time  which  cannot  last  for 
any  of  us.  I  do  not  know  what  the  song  was — whether  some 
slow,  sad  negro  melody,  or  loud-sounding  hymn,  such  as  the 
forests  ring  with  at  camp-meetings ;  but  I  know  what  the  mur 
muring  and  dying  sound  brought  to  me  again,  living,  splendid, 
instinct  with  a  thoughtful  but  perfect  joy.  Fairyland  never, 
with  its  silver-twisted,  trumpet-flower-like  bugles,  rolled  such  a 
merry -mournful  music  to  the  friendly  stars  !  I  love  to  have  the 
old  days  back  again — back,  with  their  very  tints,  and  atmosphere, 
and  sounds  and  odors — now  no  more  the  same.  Thus  I  love  to 
hear  the  young  girl's  low,  merry  song,  floating  from  the  window 
of  a  country-house,  half-broken  by  the  cicala,  the  swallow's 
twitter,  or  the  rustling  leaves ; — I  love  to  hear  the  joyous  ripple 
of  the  harpsichord,  bringing  back,  with  some  old  music,  times 
when  that  merry  music  stamped  the  hours,  and  took  possession  of 
them — in  the  heart — forever  more  !  I  love  a  ringing  horn,  even 
the  stage-horn — now,  alas !  no  more  a  sound  of  real  life,  only 
memory ! — the  thousand  murmurs  of  a  country  evening  ;  the  far, 
clear  cry  of  wild-geese  from  the  clouds  ;  the  tinkling  bells  of  cat 
tle  ;  every  sound  which  brings  again  a  glimpse  of  the  far-glim 
mering  plains  of  youth.  And  that  is  why,  standing  on  this  round 
knoll,  beneath  the  merrily-rustling  cherry-trees,  and  listening  to  the 
murmurous  song,  I  heard  my  boyhood  speak  to  me,  and  felt  again 
the  old  breath  on  my  brow.  The  sun  died  away  across  the  old 
swaying  woods  ;  the  rattling  hone  upon  the  scythe ;  the  meas 
ured  sweep  ;  the  mellow  music — all  were  gone  away.  The  day 
was  done,  and  the  long  twilight  came — twilight,  which  mixes  the 
crimson  of  the  darkling  west,  the  yellow  moonlight  in  the  azure 
east,  and  the  red  glimmering  starlight  overhead,  into  one  magic 


THE  HARVEST  MOON.  291 

light.  And  so  we  went  home  merrily,  with  pleasant  thoughts 
and  talk  ;  such  pleasant  thoughts  I  wish  to  all.  Thus  wrote  one 
who  ever  delighted  in  the  rural  evenings  and  their  sounds ; — and 
thus  listened  the  young  persons,  whose  conversation,  light  and 
trivial  though  it  seem,  we  have  not  thought  it  a  loss  of  time  to 
chronicle,  from  morn  till  eve. 

They  gazed  with  quiet  pleasure  upon  the  lovely  landscape,  and 
listened  to  the  negroes  as  they  sang  their  old,  rude,  touching  mad 
rigals,  shouting,  at  times,  to  the  horses  of  their  teams,  and  not 
seldom  sending  on  the  air  the  loud  rejoiceful  outburst  of  their 
laughter. 

The  moonlight  slept  upon  the  wains  piled  up  with  yellow 
sheaves — and  plainly  revealed  the  little  monkey-like  black,  seated 
on  the  summit  of  the  foremost ;  and  this  young  gentleman  had 
managed  to  procure  a  banjo,  and  was  playing. 

As  he  played  he  sang  ;  and,  as  he  sang,  kept  time — not  with  the 
head  alone,  and  foot,  but  with  his  whole  body,  arms,  and  legs  and 
shoulders — all  agitated  with  the  ecstacy  of  mirth,  as — singing 
"  coony  up  the  holler,"  and  executing  it  with  grand  effect  more 
over — the  merry  minstrel  went  upon  his  way.  Various  diminu 
tive  individuals  of  a  similar  description,  were  observed  in  the 
road  behind,  executing  an  impromptu  "break  down,"  to  the 
inspiring  melody ;  and  so  the  great  piled-up  wagon  came  on  in 
the  moonlight,  creaking  in  unison  with  the  music,  and  strewing 
on  the  road  its  long  trail  of  golden  wheat. 

The  moon  soared  higher,  bidding  defiance  now  to  sunset,  which 
it  drove  completely  from  the  field ;  and  in  the  window  of  Apple 
Orchard  a  light  began  to  twinkle  ;  and  Redbud  rose.  She  should 
not  stay  out,  she  said,  as  she  had  been  sick ;  and  so  they  took 
their  way,  as  says  our  friend,  "  in  pleasant  talk,"  across  the 
emerald  meadow  to  the  cheerful  home.  • 

The  low  of  cattle  went  with  them,  and  all  the  birds  of  night 
waked  up  and  sang. 

The  beautiful  moon — the  very  moon  of  all  the  harvest-homes 


THE  HARVEST  MOON. 


since  the  earth  was  made — shone  on  them  as  they  went ;  and  by 
the  time  they  had  reached  the  portico  of  the  old  comfortable 
mansion,  evening  had  cast  such  shadows,  far  and  near,  that  only 
the  outlines  of  the  forms  were  seen,  as  they  passed  in  through 
the  deep  shadow. 

They  did  not  see  that  Verty's  hand  held  little  Kedbud's ;  and 
that  he  looked  at  her  with  a  tenderness  which  could  not  be 
mistaken.  But  Redbud  saw  it,  and  a  flush  passed  over  her 
delicate  cheek,  on  which  the  maiden  moon  looked  down  and 
smiled. 

So  the  day  ended. 


CHAPTER   XLIX. 

BACK  TO  WINCHESTER,  WHERE  EDITORIAL  INIQUITY  IS  DIS 
COURSED  OF. 

BUSY  with  the  various  fortunes  of  our  other  personages,  we 
have  not  been  able  of  late  to  give  much  attention  to  the  noble 
poet,  Roundjacket,  with  whose  ambition  and  great  thoughts,  this 
history  has  heretofore  somewhat  concerned  itself. 

Following  the  old,  fine  chivalric  mansion,  "  Place  aux  dames  /" 
we  have  necessarily  been  compelled  to  elbow  the  cavaliers  from 
the  stage,  and  pass  by  in  silence,  without  listening  to  them.  Now, 
however,  when  we  have  written  our  pastoral  canto,  and  duly 
spoken  of  the  sayings  and  doings  of  Miss  Redbud  and  Miss 
Fanny — used  our  best  efforts  to  place  upon  record  what  they 
amused  themselves  with,  laughed  at,  and  took  pleasure  in,  under 
the  golden  trees  of  the  beautiful  woods,  and  in  the  happy  autumn 
fields — now  we  are  at  liberty  to  return  to  our  good  old  border 
town,  and  those  other  personages  of  the  history,  whose  merits 
have  not  been  adequately  recognized. 

When  Verty  entered  Winchester,  on  the  morning  after  the 
events,  or  rather  idle  country  scenes,  which  we  have  related,  he 
was  smiling  and  joyous ;  and  the  very  clatter  of  Cloud's  hoofs 
made  Longears  merry. 

Verty  dismounted,  and  turned  the  knob  of  the  office-door. 

In  opening,  it  struck  against  the  back  of  Mr.  Roundjacket,  who, 
pacing  hastily  up  and  down  the  apartment,  seemed  to  be  laboring 
under  much  excitement. 

In  his  left  hand,  Roundjacket  carried  a  small  brown  newspa- 


294  EDITORIAL   INIQUITY  DISCOURSED. 

per,  with  heavy  straggling  type,  and  much  dilapidated  from  its 
contact  with  the  equestrian  mail-bag,  which  it  had  evidently 
issued  from  only  a  short  time  before.  In  his  right  hand,  the 
poet  held  a  ruler,  which  described  eccentric  circles  in  the  air, 
and  threatened  imaginary  foes  with  torture  and  extermination. 

The  poet's  hair  stood  up  ;  his  breath  came  and  went ;  his 
coat-skirts  moved  from  side  to  side,  with  indignation  ;  and  he 
evidently  regarded  something  in  the  paper  with  a  mixture  of 
horror  and  despair. 

Verty  paused  for  a  moment  on  the  threshold ;  then  took  off 
his  hat  and  went  in. 

Roundjacket  turned  round. 

Verty  gazed  at  him  for  a  moment  in  silence  ;  then  smiling  : 

"  What  is  the  matter,  sir  I"  he  said. 

"  Matter,  sir  !"  cried  Roundjacket — "  everything  is  the  matter, 
sir !" 

Verty  shook  his  head,  as  much  as  to  say,  that  this  was  a  dread 
ful  state  of  things,  and  echoed  the  word  "  everything  !" 

"  Yes,  sir !  everything  ! — folly  is  the  matter  ! — crime  is  the 
matter  ! — statutory  misdemeanor  is  the  matter !" 

And  Roundjacket,  overcome  with  indignation,  struck  the 
newspaper  a  savage  blow  with  his  ruler. 

"  I  am  the  victim,  sir,  of  editorial  iniquity,  and  typographical 
abomination  !" 

"  Anan  ?"  said  Verty. 

"  I  am  a  victim,  sir  !" 

"  Yes,  you  look  angry." 

"  I  am !" 

Verty  shook  his  head. 

"  That  is  not  right,"  he  replied  ;  "  Redbud  says  it  is  wrong  to 
be  angry — " 

"  Redbud  !" 

"  Yes,  sir." 


EDITORIAL  INIQUITY  DISCOURSED.  295 

"  Consign  Miss  Redbud— !" 

"  Oh,  no  !"  said  Verty,  "  don't  do  that." 

"  I  have  a  right  to  be  angry,"  continued  Roundjacket,  flour 
ishing  his  ruler  ;  "  it  would  be  out  of  the  question  for  me  to  be 
anything  else." 

"How,  sir?" 

"  Do  you  see  that  ?" 

And  Roundjacket  held  up  the  paper,  flourishing  his  ruler  at  it 
in  a  threatening  way. 

"  The  paper,  sir  ?"  said  Verty. 

"Yes!" 

"What  of  it  r 

"  Abomination  !" 

"  Oh,  sir." 

"Yes!  utter  abomination !" 

"  I  don't  understand,  sir." 

"  Mark  me  !"  said  Roundjacket. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  That  is  the  <  Virginia  Gazette.' " 

"Is  it,  sir?" 

"  Published  at  Williamsburg." 

"  I  think  I've  heard  of  it,  sir." 

"  Williamsburg,  the  centre  of  civilization,  cultivation,  and  the 
other  ations  !"  cried  Roundjacket,  flourishing  his  ruler  savagely, 
and  smiling  with  bitter  scorn. 

"  Ah  !"  said  Verty,  finding  that  he  was  expected  to  say  some 
thing. 

"  Yes  !  the  Capital  of  Virginia,  forsooth  !" 

"  Has  Williamsburg  made  you  angry,  sir  ?" 

"Yes!" 

"But  the  < Gazette' <?" 

"  Is  the  immediate  cause." 

Verty  sat  down. 


296  EDITORIAL   INIQUITY  DISCOURSED. 

"  I'm  sorry,  sir,"  he  said,  smiling  ;  "  but  I  don't  understand. 
I  never  read  the  newspapers.  Nothing  but  the  Bible — because 
Redbud  wants  me  to :  I  hope  to  like  it  after  awhile  though." 

"  I  trust  you  will  never  throw  away  your  time  on  this  thing!" 
cried  Roundjacket,  running  the  end  of  his  ruler  through  the 
paper ;  "  can  you  believe,  sir,  that  the  first  canto  of  my  great 
poem  has  been  murdered  in  its  columns — yes,  murdered !" 

"  Killed,  do  you  mean,  sir  ?" 

"  I  do — I  mean  that  the  illiterate  editor  of  this  disgraceful 
sheet  has  assassinated  the  offspring  of  my  imagination  !" 

"  That  was  very  wrong,  sir." 

"  Wrong  ?  It  was  infamous  ?  What  should  be  done  with 
such  a  man  !"  cried  Houndjacket. 

"  Arrest  him  ?"  suggested  Verty 

"  It  is  not  a  statutable  offence. 

"What,  sir?" 

"  Neglecting  to  send  sheets  to  correct." 

"  Anan  I"  said  Verty,  who  did  not  understand. 

"  I  mean  that  I  have  not  had  an  opportunity  to  correct  the 
printed  verses,  sir  ;  and  that  I  complain  of." 

Yerty  nodded. 

"  Mark  me,"  said  Roundjacket ;  "  the  publisher,  editor,  or 
reviewer  who  does  not  send  sheets  to  the  author  for  correction, 
will  inevitably  perish,  in  the  end,  from  the  tortures  of  remorse !" 

"  Ah  ?"  said  Verty. 

"  Yes,  sir  !  the  pangs  of  a  guilty  conscience  will  not  suffer  him 
to  sleep ;  and  death  only  will  end  his  miserable  existence." 

Which  certainly  had  the  air  of  an  undoubted  truth. 

"  See !"  said  Mr.  Roundjacket,  relapsing  into  the  pathetic — 
"  see  how  my  unfortunate  offspring  has  been  mangled — maimed — 
a  statutory  offence — mayhem  ! — see  Bacon's  Abridgment,  page  — ; 
but  I  wander.  See,"  continued  Roundjacket,  "  that  is  all  that 
is  left  of  the  original." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Verty. 


EDITORIAL  INIQUITY  DISCOURSED.  297 

"  The  very  first  line  is  unrecognizable." 

And  Roundjacket  put  his  handkerchief  to  his  eyes  and  sniffled. 

Verty  tried  not  to  smile. 

"  It's  very  unfortunate,  sir,"  he  said  ;  "  but  perhaps  the  paper 
— I  mean  yours — was  not  written  plain." 

"  Written  plain!"   cried  Roundjacket,  suppressing  his  feelings. 

"  Yes,  sir — the  manuscript,  I  believe,  it  is  called." 

"  Well,  no — it  was  not  written  plain — of  course  not." 

Verty  looked  surprised,  spite  of  his  own  suggestion. 

"  I  thought  you  wrote  as  plain  as  print,  Mr.  Roundjacket." 

"  I  do." 

"  Why  then—?" 

"  Not  do  so  in  the  present  instance,  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Young  man,"  said  Roundjacket,  solemnly,  "  it  is  easy  to  see 
that  you  are  shockingly  ignorant  of  the  proprieties  of  life — or  you 
never  would  have  suggested  such  a  thing." 

"  What  thing,  sir  ?" 

"  Plain  writing  in  an  author." 

"Oh  !"  said  Verty. 

"  Mark  me,"  continued  Roundjacket,  with  affecting  gravity, 
"the  unmistakable  evidence  of  greatness  is  not  the  brilliant 
eye,  the  fine  forehead,  or  the  firm-set  lip ;  neither  is  the  *  lion 
port'  or  noble  carriage — it  is  far  more  simple,  sir.  It  lies 
wholly  in  the  hand-writing." 

"Possible,  sir?" 

"  Yes ;  highly  probable  even.  No  great  man  ever  yet  wrote 
legibly,  and  I  hold  that  such  a  thing  is  conclusive  evidence 
of  a  narrowness  of  intellect.  Great  men  uniformly  use  a 
species  of  scrawl  which  people  have  to  study,  sir,  before  they 
can  understand.  Like  the  Oracles  of  Delphos,  the  manuscript 
is  mysterious  because  it  is  profound.  My  own  belief,  sir,  is, 
that  Homer's  manuscript — if  he  had  one,  which  I  doubt — re 
sembled  a  sheet  of  paper  over  which  a  fly  with  inked  feet  has 

13 


298  EDITORIAL  INIQUITY  DISCOURSED. 

crawled ; — and  you  may  imagine,  sir,  the  respect,  and,  I  may 
add,  the  labor,  of  the  old  Greek  type-setters  in  publishing  the 
first  edition  of  the  Iliad." 

This  dissertation  had  the  effect  of  diverting  Mr.  Roundjacket' s 
mind  temporarily  from  his  affliction ;  but  his  grief  soon  returned 
in  full  force  again. 

"  To  think  it !"  he  cried,  nourishing  his  ruler,  and  ready  to 
weep, — "  to  think  that  after  taking  all  the  trouble  to  disguise  my 
clear   running   hand,   and   write    as  became   an  author  of  my 
standing — in  hieroglyphics — to  think  that  this  should  be  the  re 
sult  of  all  my  trouble." 
Roundjacket  sniffed. 
"  Don't  be  sorry,"  said  Verty. 

"  I  cannot  refrain,  sir,"  said  Roundjacket,  in  a  tone  of  acute 
agony ;  "  it  is  more  than  I  can  bear.  See  here,  sir,  again  :  '  High 
Jove  I  great  father  !'  is  changed  into  'By  Jove,  I'd  rather  !'  and 
so  on.  Sir,  it  is  more  than  humanity  can  bear ;  I  feel  that  I 
shall  sink  under  it.  I  shall  be  in  bed  to-morrow,  sir — after 
all  my  trouble — ' By  Jove  !'" 

With  this  despairing  exclamation  Roundjacket  let  his  head 
fall,  overcome  with  grief,  upon  his  desk,  requesting  not  to  be 
spoken  to,  after  the  wont  of  great  unfortunates. 

Verty  seemed  to  feel  great  respect  for  this  overwhelming 
grief;  at  least  he  did  not  utter  any  commonplace  consola 
tions.  He  also  leaned  upon  his  desk,  and  his  idle  hands  traced 
idle  lines  upon  the  paper  before  him. 

His  dreamy  eyes,  full  of  quiet  pleasure,  fixed  themselves 
upon  the  far  distance — he  was  thinking  of  Redbud. 

He  finally  aroused  himself,  however,  and  began  to  work. 
Half  an  hour,  an  hour,  another  hour  passed — Verty  was 
breaking  himself  into  the  traces  ;  he  had  finished  his  work. 

He  rose,  and  going  to  Mr.  Rushton's  door,  knocked  and  opened 
it.  The  lawyer  was  not  there ;  Verty  looked  round — his  com 
panion  was  absorbed  in  writing. 

Verty  sat  down  in  the  lawyer's  arm-chair. 


CHAPTER  L. 

HOW   VERTY  DISCOVERED    A   PORTRAIT,    AND   WHAT   ENSUED. 

FOR  some  time  the  young  man  remained  motionless  and  silent, 
thinking  of  Redbud,  and  smiling  with  the  old  proverbial  delight 
of  lovers,  as  the  memory  of  her  bright  sweet  face,  and  kind  eyes, 
came  to  his  thoughts. 

There  was  now  no  longer  any  doubt,  assuredly,  that  he  was 
what  was  called  "in  love"  with  Redbud;  Verty  said  as  much  to 
himself,  and  we  need  not  add  that  when  this  circumstance  occurs, 
the  individual  who  comes  to  such  conclusion,  is  no  longer  his 
own  master,  or  the  master  of  his  heart,  which  is  gone  from  him. 

For  as  it  is  observable  that  persons  often  imagine  themselves 
affected  with  material  ailments  when  there  is  no  good  ground  for 
such  a  supposition ;  so,  on  the  other  hand,  is  it  true  that  those 
who  labor  under  the  disease  of  love  are  the  last  to  know  their 
own  condition.  As  Verty,  therefore,  came  to  the  conclusion 
that  he  must  be  "  in  love"  with  Redbud,  we  may  form  a  tolerably 
correct  idea  of  the  actual  fact 

Why  should  he  not  love  her  ?  Redbud  was  so  kind,  so  tender ; 
her  large  liquid  eyes  were  instinct  with  such  deep  truth  and  good 
ness  ;  in  her  fresh,  frank  face  there  was  such  radiant  joy,  and 
purity,  and  love  !  Surely,  a  mortal  sin  to  do  otherwise  than  love 
her  !  And  Verty  congratulated  himself  on  exemption  from  this 
sad  sin  of  omission. 

He  sat  thus,  looking  with  his  dreamy  smile  through  the  window, 
across  which  the  shadows  of  the  autumn  trees  flitted  and  played. 


300  HOW  VERTY  DISCOVERS  A  PORTRAIT. 

Listlessly  he  took  up  a  pen,  nibbed  the  feather  with  his  old  odd 
smile,  and  began  to  scrawl  absently  on  the  sheet  of  paper  lying 
before  him. 

The  words  he  wrote  there  thus  unconsciously,  were  some 
which  he  had  heard  Redbud  utter  with  her  soft,  kind  voice, 
which  dwelt  in  his  memory. 

"  Trust  in  God." 

This  Verty  wrote,  scarcely  knowing  he  did  so  ;  then  he  threw 
down  the  pen,  and  reclining  in  the  old  lawyer's  study  chair,  fell 
into  one  of  those  Indian  reveries  which  the  dreamy  forests  seem 
to  have  taught  the  red  men. 

As  the  young  man  thus  reclined  in  the  old  walnut  chair,  clad 
in  his  forest  costume,  with  his  profuse  tangled  curls,  and  smiling 
lips,  and  half-closed  eyes,  bathed  in  the  vagrant  gleams  of  golden 
sunlight,  even  Monsignor  might  have  thought  the  picture  not  un 
worthy  of  his  pencil.  But  he  could  not  have  reproduced  the 
wild,  fine  picture  ;  for  in  Verty's  face  was  that  dim  and  dreamy 
smile  which  neither  pencil  nor  words  can  describe  on  paper  or 
canvas. 

At  last  he  roused  himself,  and  waked  to  the  real  life  around 
him — though  his  thoughtful  eyes  were  still  overshadowed. 

He  looked  around. 

He  had  never  been  alone  in  Mr.  Rushton's  sanctum  before, 
and  naturally  regarded  the  objects  before  him  with  curiosity. 

There  was  an  old  press,  covered  with  dust  and  cobwebs,  on 
the  top  of  which  huge  volumes  of  Justinian's  Institutes  frowned 
at  the  ceiling ;  a  row  of  shelves  which  were  crammed  with  law 
books ;  an  old  faded  carpet  covered  with  ink-splotches  on  his 
right  hand,  splotches  evidently  produced  by  the  lawyer's  habit  of 
shaking  the  superfluous  ink  from  his  pen  before  he  placed  it 
upon  the  paper ;  a  dilapidated  chair  or  two  ;  the  rough  walnut 
desk  at  which  he  sat,  covered  with  papers,  open  law  volumes, 
and  red  tape  ;  and  finally,  a  tall  mantel-piece,  on  which  stood  a 


HOW  VERTY  DISCOVERS  A  PORTRAIT.  301 

half-emptied  ink  bottle — which  mantel-piece  rose  over  a  wide 
fire-place,  surrounded  with  a  low  iron  fender,  on  which  a  dis 
located  pair  of  tongs  were  exposed  in  grim  resignation  to  the  evils 
of  old  age. 

There  was  little  to  interest  Verty  in  all  this — or  in  the  old 
iron-bound  trunks  in  the  corners. 

But  his  eye  suddenly  falls  on  a  curtain,  in  the  recess  farthest 
from  the  door — the  edge  of  a  curtain  ;  for  the  object  which  this 
curtain  conceals,  is  not  visible  from  the  chair  in  which  he  sits. 
Verty  rises,  and  goes  into  the  recess,  and  looks. 
The  curtain  falls  over  a  picture — Verty  raises  it,  and  stands 
in  admiration  before  the  portrait,  which  it  covered. 

"  What  a  lovely  child !"  he  exclaims.     "  I  have  never  seen  a 
prettier  little  girl  in  all  my  life  !     What  beautiful  hair  she  has !" 
And  Verty,  with  the  curtain  in  his  left  hand,  blows  away  the 
dust  from  the  canvas. 

The  portrait  is  indeed  exquisite.  The  picture  represents  a 
child  of  two  or  three  years  of  age,  of  rare  and  surpassing  beauty. 
Over  its  white  brow  hang  long  yellow  ringlets — the  eyes  dance 
and  play — the  ripe,  ruddy  lips,  resembling  cherries,  are  wreathed 
with  the  careless  laughter  of  infancy.  The  child  wears  a  little 
blue  frock  which  permits  two  round,  fat  arms  to  be  seen ;  and 
one  of  the  hands  grasps  a  doll,  drawn  to  the  life.  There  is  so 
much  freshness  and  reality  about  the  picture,  that  Verty  ex 
claims  a  second  time,  "  What  a  lovely  little  girl !" 

Thus  absorbed  in  the  picture,  he  does  not  hear  a  growling 
voice  in  the  adjoining  room — is  not  conscious  of  the  heavy  step 
advancing  toward  the  room  he  occupies — does  not  even  hear 
the  door  open  as  the  new  comer  enters. 

"Who  can  she  be!"   murmurs  the  young  man;  "not  Mr. 
Rushton's  little  daughter — 1  never  heard  that  he  was  married,  or 
had  any  children.     Pretty  little  thing  !" 
And  Verty  smiled. 

Suddenly  a  heavy  hand  was  laid  upon  his  shoulder,  and  a  gruff, 
stern  voice  said : 


302  HOW  VERTY  DISCOVERS  A  PORTRAIT. 

"  What  are  you  doing,  sir  ?" 

Verty  turned  quickly ;  Mr.  Rushton  stood  before  him — gloomy, 
forbidding,  with  a  heavy  frown  upon  his  brow. 

"What  are  you  prying  into  f  repeated  the  lawyer,  angrily; 
"are  you  not  aware,  sir,  that  this  is  my  private  apartment? 
What  has  induced  you  to  presume  in  such  a  manner?" 

Verty  was  almost  terrified  by  the  sternness  of  these  cold  words, 
and  looked  down.  Then  conscious  of  the  innocence  of  his  ac 
tion,  raised  his  eyes,  and  said  : 

"  I  came  in  to  give  you  the  copy  of  the  deed,  sir, — and  saw 
the  curtain — and  thought  I  would — " 

"  Pry  into  my  secrets,"  said  Mr.  Rushton ;  "  very  well,  sir  !" 

"  I  did  not  mean  to  pry,"  said  Verty,  proudly ;  "  I  did  not 
think  there  was  any  harm  in  such  a  little  thing.  I  hope,  sir, 
you  will  not  think  I  meant  anything  wrong,"  added  Verty — 
"  indeed  I  did  not ;  and  I  only  thought  this  was  some  common 
picture,  with  a  curtain  over  it  to  keep  off  the  dust." 

But  the  lawyer,  with  a  sudden  change  of  manner,  had  turned 
his  eyes  to  the  portrait ;  and  did  not  seem  to  hear  the  exclama 
tion. 

"  I  hope  you  will  not  think  hard  of  me,  Mr.  Rushton,"  said 
Verty ;  "  you  have  been  very  good  to  me,  and  I  would  not  do 
anything  to  offend  you  or  give  you  pain." 

No  answer  was  vouchsafed  to  this  speech  either.  The  rough 
lawyer,  with  more  and  more  change  in  his  expression,  was  gaz 
ing  at  the  fresh  portrait,  the  curtain  of  which  Verty  had  thrown 
over  one  of  the  upper  corners  of  the  frame. 

Verty  followed  the  look  of  Mr.  Rushton ;  and  gazed  upon  the 
picture. 

"  It  is  very  lovely,"  he  said,  softly ;  "  I  never  saw  a  sweeter 
face." 

The  lawyer's  breast  heaved. 

"  And  what  ringlets — I  believe  they  call  'em,"  continued  Verty, 
absorbed  in  contemplating  the  portrait ; — "  I  love  the  pretty 
little  thing  already,  sir." 


HOW  VERTY  DISCOVERS  A  PORTRAIT.  803 

Mr.  Rushton  sat  down  in  the  chaff,  which  Verty  had  aban 
doned,  and  covered  his  face. 

"  Did  you  know  her? — but  oh,  I  forgot ! — how  wrong  in  me!" 
murmured  Verty ;  "  I  did  not  think  that  she  might  be — Mr. 
Rushton — forgive  my — " 

The  lawyer,  with  his  face  still  covered,  motioned  toward  the 
door. 

"Must  I  go,  sir?" 

"  Yes — go,"  came  from  the  lips  which  uttered  a  groan — a 
groan  of  such  anguish,  that  Verty  almost  groaned  in  unison. 

And  murmuring  "  Anna  !  Anna  !"  the  lawyer  shook. 

The  young  man  went  toward  the  door.  As  he  opened  it,  he 
heard  an  exclamation  behind  him. 

He  turned  his  head. 

"  What's  this  !"  cried  the  lawyer,  in  a  tone  between  a  growl 
and  a  sob. 

"What,  sir?" 

"This  paper." 

"Sir?" 

"This  paper  with — with — 'Trust  in  God'  on  it;  did  you 
write  it  ?" 

"  I — I — must — yes — I  suppose  I  did,  sir,"  stammered  Verty, 
almost  alarmed  by  the  tone  of  his  interlocutor. 

"  What  did  you  mean?" 

"  Nothing,  sir !" 

"  You  had  the  boldness  to  write  this  canting — hypocritical — " 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Rushton  !" 

"  You  wrote  it  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  and  it  is  right,  though  I  did'nt  mean  to  write  it — 
or  know  it." 

"Very  grand!" 

"Sir?" 

"  You  bring  your  wretched — " 

"  Oh,  I  did'nt  know  I  wrote  it  even,  sir!     But  indeed  that  is 


304  HOW  VERTY  DISCOVERS  A  PORTRAIT. 

not  right,  sir.  All  of  us^ught  to  trust  in  God,  however  great 
our  afflictions  are,  sir." 

"  Go  !"  cried  the  lawyer,  rising  with  a  furious  gesture — 
"  away,  sir !  Preach  not  to  me — you  may  be  right—  but  take 
your  sermons  elsewhere.  Look  there,  sir  !  at  that  portrait ! — 
look  at  me  now,  a  broken  man^ — think  that — but  this  is  folly ! 
Leave  rne  to  myself!" 

And  strangling  a  passionate  sob,  the  lawyer  sank  again  into 
his  chair,  covering  his  face., 


CHAPTER  LI. 

A  CHILD  AND  A  LOGICIAN. 

To  DESCRIBE  the  astonishment  of  Verty,  as  he  hastily  went 
out  and  closed  the  door,  would  be  impossible.  His  face  passed 
from  red  to  pale,  his  eyes  were  full  of  bewilderment — he  sat 
down,  scarcely  knowing  what  he  did. 

Roundjacket  sat  writing  at  his  desk,  and  either  had  not  heard, 
or  pretended  that  he  had  not,  any  portion  of  the  passionate 
colloquy. 

Yerty  could  do  nothing  all  day,  for  thinking  of  the  astonishing 
scene  he  had  passed  through.  Why  should  there  be  anything 
offensive  in  raising  the  curtain  of  a  portrait  ?  Why  should  so 
good  a  man  as  Mr.  Rushton,  address  such  insulting  and  harsh 
words  to  him  for  such  a  trifling  thing  1  How  was  it  possible  that 
the  simple  words,  '  Trust  in  God,'  had  been  the  occasion  of  such 
anger,  nay,  almost  fury  ? 

The  longer  Verty  pondered,  the  less  he  understood ;  or  at  least 
he  understood  no  better  than  before,  which  amounted  precisely 
to  no  understanding  at  all. 

He  got  through  his  day  after  a  very  poor  fashion ;  and,  going 
along  under  the  evening  skies,  cudgelled  his  brains,  for  the  thou 
sandth  time,  for  some  explanation  of  this  extraordinary  circum 
stance.  In  vain !  the  explanation  never  came ;  and  finding 
himself  near  Apple  Orchard,  the  young  man  determined  to  banish 
the  subject,  and  go  in  and  see  Redbud. 

The  young  girl  had  been  imprudent  in  remaining  out  so  late, 

13* 


306  A  CHILD   AND  A  LOGICIAN. 

on  the  preceding  evening,  and  her  cold  had  returned,  with  slight 
fever,  which,  however,  gave  her  little  inconvenience. 

She  lay  upon  the  sofa,  near  the  open  window,  with  a  shawl 
over  her  feet,  and,  when  Verty  entered,  half-rose,  only  giving 
him  her  hand  tenderly. 

Verty  sat  down,  and  they  began  to  talk  in  the  old,  friendly 
way ;  and,  as  the  evening  deepened,  to  laugh  and  mention  old 
things  which  they  both  remembered — uniting  thus  in  the  dim 
twilight  all  the  golden  threads  which  bind  the  present  to  the 
past — gossamer,  which  are  not  visible  by  the  glaring  daylight, 
but  are  seen  when  the  soft  twilight  descends  on  the  earth. 

Redbud  even,  at  Verty' s  request,  essayed  one  of  the  old  Scot 
tish  songs  which  he  was  fond  of;  and  the  gentle  carol  filled  the 
evening  with  its  joy  and  musical  delight.  This  was  rather  dan 
gerous  in  Verty — surely  he  was  quite  enough  in  love  already ! 
Why  should  he  rivet  the  fetters,  insist  upon  a  new  set  of  shackles, 
and  a  heavier  chain  ! 

Verty  told  Redbud  of  the  singular  circumstance  of  the  morn 
ing,  and  demanded  an  explanation.  Her  wonder  was  as  great  as 
his  own,  however  ;  and  she  remained  silently  gazing  at  the  sun 
set,  and  pondering.  A  shake  of  the  head  betrayed  her  want  of 
success  in  this  attempt  to  unravel  the  mystery,  especially  the 
lawyer's  indignation  at  the  words  written  by  Verty. 

They  passed  from  this  to  quite  a  grave  discussion  upon  the 
truth  of  the  maxim  in  question,  which  Redbud  and  her  compan 
ion,  we  may  imagine,  did  not  differ  upon.  The  girl  had  just 
said — "  For  you  know,  Verty,  everything  is  for  the  best,  and  we 
should  not  murmur," — when  a  gruff  voice  at  the  door  replied  : 

"  Pardon  me,  Miss  Redbud — that  is  a  pretty  maxim — nothing 
more,  however." 

And  Mr.  Rushton,  cold  and  impassable,  came  in  with  the  jovial 
Squire. 

"  So  busy  talking,  young  people,  that  you  could  not  even  look 
out  ot  the  window  when  I  approach  with  visitors,  eh  f "  cried 


A  CHILD  AND  A  LOGICIAN.  307 

the  Squire,  chuckling  Miss  Redbud  under  the  chin,  and  driving 
the  breath  out  of  Verty's  body  by  a  friendly  slap  upon  that  gen 
tleman's  back.  "  Well,  here  we  are,  and  there's  Lavinia — bless 
her  heart — with  an  expression  which  indicates  protestation  at 
the  loudness  of  my  voice,  ha  !  ha!" 

And  the  Squire  laughed  in  a  way  which  shook  the  windows. 

Miss  Lavinia  smiled  in  a  solemn  manner,  and  busied  herself 
about  tea. 

Redbud  turned  to  Mr.  Rushton,  who  had  seated  himself  with 
an  expression  of  grim  reserve,  and,  smiling,  said : 

"  I  did  not  hear  you — exactly  what  you  said — as  you  came  in, 
you  know,  Mr.  Kushton — " 

"I  said  that;  your  maxim,  'All  is  for  the  best,'  is  a  pretty 
maxim,  and  no  more,"  replied  the  lawyer,  regarding  Verty  with 
an  air  of  rough  indifference,  as  though  he  had  totally  forgotten 
the  scene  of  the  morning. 

"  I'm  sure  you  are  wrong,  sir,"  Redbud  said. 

"  Very  likely — to  be  taught  by  a  child  !"  grumbled  the  lawyer. 

Redbud  caught  the  words. 

"  I  know  I  ought  not  to  dispute  with  you,  sir,"  she  said  ;  "  but 
what  I  said  is  in  the  Bible,  and  you  know  that  cannot  contain 
what  is  not  true." 

"  Hum  !"  said  Mr.  Rushton.  "  That  was  an  unhappy  age — 
and  the  philosophy  of  Voltaire  and  Rousseau  had  produced  its 
effect  even  on  the  strongest  minds." 

"  God  does  all  for  the  best,  and  He  is  a  merciful  and  loving 
Being,"  said  Redbud.  "Even  if  we  suffer  here,  in  this  world, 
every  affliction,  we  know  that  there  is  a  blessed  recompense  in 
the  other  world." 

"  Humph  ! — how  ?"  said  the  skeptic. 

"By  faith?" 

"  What  is  faith  f  he  said,  looking  carelessly  at  the  girl. 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  can  define  it  better  than  belief  and  trust 
in  God,"  said  Redbud. 


308  A  CHILD  AND  A  LOGICIAN. 

These  were  the  words  which  Verty  had  written  on  the  paper. 

The  glance  of  the  lawyer  fell  upon  the  young  man's  face,  and 
from  it  passed  to  the  innocent  countenance  of  Redbud.  She  had 
evidently  uttered  the  words  without  the  least  thought  of  the 
similarity. 

"  Humph,"  said  the  lawyer,  frowning,  "  that  is  very  fine 
Miss ;  but  suppose  we  cannot  see  anything  to  give  us  a  very 
lively — faith,  as  you  call  it." 

"  Oh,  but  you  may,  sir  1" 

"Howf 

"  Everywhere  there  are  evidences  of  God's  goodness  and 
mercy.  You  cannot  doubt  that." 

A  shadow  passed  over  the  rough  face. 

"  I  do  doubt  it,"  was  on  his  lips,  but  he  could  not,  rude  as  he 
was,  utter  such  a  sentence  in  presence  of  the  pure,  childlike  girl. 

"  Humph,"  he  said,  with  his  habitual  growl,  "  suppose  a  man 
is  made  utterly  wretched  in  this  world — " 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  And  without  any  fault  of  his  own  suffers  horribly,"  continued 
the  lawyer,  sternly. 

"  We  are  all  faulty,  sir." 

•  "  I  mean — did  anybody  ever  hear  such  reasoning  !  Excuse 
me,  but  I  am  a  little  out  of  sorts,"  he  growled,  apologetically — 
"  I  mean  that  you  may  suppose  a  man  to  suffer  some  peculiar 
torture — torture,  you  understand — which  he  has  not  deserved. 
I  suppose  that  has  happened ;  how  can  such  a  man  have  your 
faith,  and  love,  and  trust,  and  all  that — if  we  must  talk  theology!" 
growled  the  bearish  speaker. 

"  But,  Mr.  Rushton,"  said  liedbud,  "  is  not  heaven  worth  all 
the  world  and  its  affections  f 

«  Yes — your  heaven  is." 

"  My  heaven—  ?" 

"  Yes,  yes — heaven  !"  cried  the  lawyer,  impatiently — "  every 
body's  heaven  that  chooses.  But  you  were  about  to  say-—" 


A  CHILD  AND  A  LOGICIAN.  309 

"  This,  sir :  that  if  heaven  is  so  far  above  earth,  and  those  who 
are  received  there  by  God,  enjoy  eternal  happiness — " 

"Very  well!" 

"  That  this  inestimable  gift  is  cheaply  bought  by  suffering  in 
this  world ; — that  the  giver  of  this  great  good  has  a  right  to  try 
even  to  what  may  seem  a  cruel  extent,  the  faith  and  love  of  those 
for  whom  he  decrees  this  eternal  bliss.  Is  not  that  rational, 
sir?" 

"  Yes,  and  theological — what,  however,  is  one  to  do  if  the  said 
love  and  faith  sink  and  disappear — are  drowned  in  tears,  or  burnt 
up  in  the  fires  of  anguish  and  despair." 

"  Pray,  sir,"  said  Redbud,  softly. 

The  lawyer  growled. 

"  To  whom  ?  To  a  Being  whom  we  have  no  faith  in — whom 
such  a  man  has  no  faith  in,  I  mean  to  say — to  the  hand  that 
struck — which  we  can  only  think  of  as  armed  with  an  avenging 
sword,  or  an  all-consuming  firebrand  !  Pray  to  one  who  stands 
before  us  as  a  Nemesi  s  of  wrath  and  terror,  hating  and  ready  to 
crush  us? — humph  !' ' 

And  the  lawyer  wiped  his  brow. 

"  Can't  we  think  of  the  Creator  differently,"  said  Redbud, 
earnestly. 

"How?" 

"As  the  Being  who  came  down  upon  the  earth,  and  suffered, 
and  wept  tears  of  blood,  was  buffeted  and  crowned  with  thorns, 
and  crucified  like  a  common,  degraded  slave — all  because  he  loved 
us,  and  would  not  see  us  perish  1  Oh !  Mr.  Rushton,  if  there 
are  men  who  shrink  from  the  terrible  God — who  cannot  love 
that  phase  of  the  Almighty,  why  should  they  not  turn  to  the 
Saviour,  who,  God  as  he  was,  came  down  and  suffered  an  igno 
minious  death,  because  he  loved  them — so  dearly  loved  them  !" 

Mr.  Rushton  was  silent  for  a  moment ;  then  he  said,  coldly  : 

"  I  did  not  intend  to  talk  upon  these  subjects — I  only  intended 
to  say,  that  trusting  in  Providence,  as  the  phrase  is,  sounds  very 


310  A  CHILD  AND  A  LOGICIAN. 

grand ;  and  has  only  the  disadvantage  of  not  being  very  easy. 
Come,  Miss  Redbud,  suppose  we  converse  on  the  subject  of 
flowers,  or  something  that  is  more  light  and  cheerful." 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  will;  but  I  don't  think  anything  is  more  cheerful 
than  Christianity,  and  I  love  to  talk  about  it.  I  know  what 
you  say  about  the  difficulty  of  trusting  wholly  in  God,  is  true  ;  it  is 
very  hard.  But  oh  !  Mr.  Rushton,  believe  me,  that  such  trust  will 
not  be  in  vain  ;  even  in  this  world  Our  Father  often  shows  us 
that  he  pities  our  sufferings,  and  His  hand  heals  the  wound,  or 
turns  aside  the  blow.  Oh,  yes,  sir !  even  in  this  world  the 
clouds  are  swept  away,  and  the  sun  shines  again  ;  and  the  heart 
which  has  trusted  in  God  finds  that  its  trust  was  not  in  vain  in 
the  Lord.  Oh  !  I'm  sure  of  it,  sir! — I  feel  it — I  know  that  it  is 
truer 

And  Redbud,  buried  in  thought,  looked  through  the  window — 
silent,  after  these  words  which  we  have  recorded. 

The  lawyer  only  looked  strangely  at  her — muttered  his 
"  humph,"  and  turned  away.  Verty  alone  saw  the  spasm  which 
he  had  seen  in  the  morning  pass  across  the  rugged  brow. 

While  this  colloquy  had  been  going  on,  the  Squire  had  gone 
into  his  apartment  to  wash  his  hands ;  and  now  issuing  forth,  re 
quested  an  explanation  of  the  argument  he  had  heard  going  on. 
This  explanation  was  refused  with  great  bearishness  by  the  law 
yer,  and  Redbud  said  they  had  only  been  talking  about  Provi 
dence. 

The  Squire  said  that  was  a  good  subject ;  and  then  going  to 
his  escritoire  took  out  some  papers,  placed  them  on  the  mantel 
piece,  and  informed  Mr.  Rushton  that  those  were  the  documents 
he  desired. 

The  lawyer  greeted  this  information  with  his  customary  growl, 
and  taking  them,  thrust  them  into  his  pocket.  He  then  made  a 
movement  to  go  ;  but  the  Squire  persuaded  him  to  stay  and  have 
a  cup  of  tea.  Verty  acquiesced  in  his  suggestion  that  he  should 
spend  the  evening,  with  the  utmost  readiness — ma  mere  would  not 
think  it  hard  if  he  remained  an  hour,  he  said. 


A  CHILD  AND   A  LOGICIAN.  311 

And  so  the  cheerful  meal  was  cheerfully  spread,  and  the  twigs 
in  the  flre-place  crackled,  and  diffused  their  brief,  mild  warmth 
through  the  cool  evening  air,  and  Cassar  yawned  upon  the  rug, 
and  all  went  merrily. 

The  old  time-piece  overhead  ticked  soberly,  and  the  soft  face 
of  Redbud's  mother  looked  down  from  its  frame  upon  them  ;  and 
the  room  was  full  of  cheerfulness  and  light. 

And  still  the  old  clock  ticked  and  ticked,  and  carried  all  the 
world  toward  eternity  j  the  fire-light  crackled,  and  the  voices 
laughed  ; — the  portrait  looked  serenely  down,  and  smiled. 


CHAPTER  LII. 

HOW   MR.    JINKS   DETERMINED   TO    SPARE   VERTT. 

% 

RALPH  stretched  himself. 

Mr.  Jinks  sipped  his  rum,  and  ruminated. 

Ralph  was  smiling ;  Mr.  Jinks  scowling,  and  evidently  busy 
with  great  thoughts,  which  caused  his  brows  to  corrugate  into 
hostile  frowns. 

It  was  the  room  of  Mr.  Jinks,  in  Bousch's  tavern,  which  saw 
the  companions  seated  thus  opposite  to  each  other — the  time, 
after  breakfast ;  the  aim  of  the  parties,  discussion  upon  any  or 
every  topic. 

Mr.  Jinks  was  clad  in  his  habitual  costume  :  half  dandy,  half 
militairc  ;  and  when  he  moved,  his  great  sword  rattled  against  his 
grasshopper  legs  in  a  way  terrifying  to  hear. 

Ralph,  richly  dressed  as  usual,  and  reclining  in  his  chair, 
smiled  lazily,  and  looked  at  the  scowling  Mr.  Jinks.  The  apart 
ment  in  which  the  worthies  were  seated  was  one  possessing  the 
advantages  of  dormer  windows,  and  an  extensive  prospect  over 
the  roofs  of  Winchester  ;  the  furniture  was  rough  ;  and  in  the 
corner  a  simple  couch  stood,  whereon  Mr.  Jinks  reposed  himself 
at  night. 

While  the  various  events  which  we  have  lately  adverted  to 
have  been  occurring,  Mr.  Jinks  has  not  forgotten  that  triple  and 
grand  revenge  he  swore. 

Mr.  Jinks  has  un-christian  feelings  against  three  persons,  for 
three  reasons : 


MR.  JINKS  DETERMINES  TO  SPARE  VERTY.  813 

First,  against  Verty :  the  cause  being  that  gentleman's  de 
fiance  and  disregard  of  himself  on  various  occasions ;  also  his 
rivalry  in  love. 

Second,  against  Miss  Sallianna  :  beautiful  and  perfidious  ;  the 
cause  :  slights  put  on  his  youthful  love. 

Third,  against  O'Brallaghan  ;  the  cause  :  impudence  on  various 
occasions,  and  slanderous  reports  relating  to  cabbaged  cloth  since 
the  period  of  their  dissolving  all  connection  with  each  other. 

Mr.  Jinks  has  revolved,  in  the  depths  of  his  gloomy  soul,  these 
darling  projects,  and  has,  perforce  of  his  grand  faculty  of  inven 
tion,  determined  upon  his  course  in  two  out  of  the  three  affairs. 

Verty  annoys  him,  however,  Mr.  Jinks  has  ceased  to  think 
of  a  brutal,  ignoble  contest  with  vulgar  fists  or  weapons  ever  since 
the  muzzle  of  Verty's  rifle  invaded  his  ruffles  on '  the  morning  of 
his  woes.  He  would  have  a  revenge  worthy  of  himself — certain, 
complete,  and  above  all,  quite  safe.  Mr.  Jinks  would  wile  the 
affections  of  Miss  Redbud  from  him,  fixing  the  said  affections  on 
himself;  but  that  is  not  possible,  since  the  young  lady  in  ques 
tion  has  gone  home,  and  Apple  Orchard  is  too  far  to  walk. 
Still  Mr.  Jinks  does  not  despair  of  doing  something ;  and  this 
something  is  what  he  seeks  and  ruminates  upon,  as  the  mixed  rum 
and  water  glides  down  his  throat. 

Ralph  yawns,  laughs,  and  kicks  his  heels. 

Then  he  rises  ;  goes  to  the  mantel-piece  and  gets  a  pipe  ;  and 
begins  to  smoke — lazier  than  ever. 

Mr.  Jinks  sets  down  his  cup,  and  murmurs. 

"  Hey  !"  cries  Ralph,  sending  out  a  cloud  of  smoke,  "  what  are 
'you  groaning  about,  my  dear  fellow  ?" 

"  I  want  money,'"  says  Mr.  Jinks. 

"  For  what?" 

"To  buy  ahorse." 

"Ahorse?" 

Mr.  Jinks  nods. 

"  What  do  you  want  with  a  horse  T' 


314  MB.  JINKS  DETERMINES  TO  SPARE   VERTY. 

"  Revenge,"  replies  Mr.  Jinks. 

Ralph  begins  to  laugh. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  he  says,  "  we  spoke  of  that ;  against  Sallianna. 
I'll  assist  you,  my  boy.  The  fact  is,  I  have  caught  the  infection 
of  a  friend's  sentiments  on  Sallianna  the  divine.  I  have  a 
cousin  who  abominates  her.  I'll  assist  you  !" 

"No;  that  affair  is  arranged,"  says  Mr.  Jinks,  with  gloomy 
pleasure ;  "  that  will  give  me  no  trouble.  That  young  man 
Verty  is  the  enemy  I  allude  to.  I  want  revenge. 

And  Mr.  Jinks  rattled  his  sword. 

Ralph  looked  with  a  mischievous  expression  at  his  friend. 

"  But  I  say,"  he  observed,  "  how  would  a  horse  come  in  there  ? 
Do  you  want  to  run  a-tilt  against  Sir  Verty,  eh  ?  That  is  char 
acteristic  of  you,  Jinks !" 

"No,"  says  Mr.  Jinks,  "I  have  other  designs." 

"  What  are  they  ?" 

"  You  are  reliable  ?" 

"  Reliable !  I  should  say  I  was !  Come,  make  me  your 
confidant." 

Mr.  Jinks  complies  with  this  request,  and  details  his  plans 
against  Verty  and  Redbud's  happiness.  He  would  ride  to  Ap 
ple  Orchard,  and  win  his  rival's  sweetheart's  affections;  then 
laugh  "triumphantly  with  glee."  That  is  Mr.  Jinks'  idea. 

Ralph  thinks  it  not  feasible,  and  suggests  a  total  abandonment 
of  revengeful  feelings  toward  Verty. 

"  Suppose  I  sent  him  a  cartel,  then,"  says  Mr.  Jinks,  after  a 
pause. 

"A  cartel?" 

"  Yes  ;  something  like  this." 

And  taking  a  preparatory  gulp  of  the  rum,  Mr.  Jinks  con 
tinues  : 

"Suppose  I  write  these  words  to  him  :  'A.  Jinks,  Esq.,  pre 
sents  his  compliments  to Verty,  Esq.,  and  requests  to  be  in 
formed  at  what  hour  Mr.  Verty  will  attend  in  front  of  Bousch's 


MR.   JINKS  DETERMINES  TO  SPARE  VERTY.  315 

tavern,  for  the  purpose  of  having  himself  exterminated  and 
killed  T  How  would  that  do  ?" 

Ralph  chokes  down  a  laugh,  and,  pretending  to  regard  Mr.  Jinks 
with  deep  admiration,  says: 

"  An  excellent  plan — very  excellent." 

"  You  think  so  ?"  says  his  companion,  dubiously. 

"  Yes,  yes  ;  you  should,  however,  be  prepared  for  one  thing." 

"What  is  that?" 

"  Mr.  Verty's  reply." 

"  What  would  that  be,  sir  I  He  is  not  a  rash  young  man,  I 
believe?" 

"  No — just  the  contrary.  His  reply  would  be  courteous  and 
cool." 

"  Ah  ?" 

"  He  would  write  under  your  letter,  demanding  at  what  hour 
you  should  kill  him — '  ten,'  or  l  twelve,'  or  '  four  in  the  after 
noon' — at  which  time  he  would  come  and  proceed  to  blood 
shed." 

"  Bloodshed !" 

"  Yes ;  he's  a  real  Indian  devil,  although  he  looks  mild,  my 
dear  fellow.  If  you  are  going  to  send  the  cartel,  you  might  as 
well  do  so  at  once." 

"No— no— I  will  think  of  it,"  replies  Mr.  Jinks;  "I  will 
spare  him  a  little  longer.  There  is  no  necessity  for  hurry.  A 
plenty  of  time !" 

And  Mr.  Jinks  clears  his  throat,  and  for  the  present  abandons 
thoughts  of  revenge  on  Verty. 

Ralph  sees  the  change  of  sentiment,  and  laughs. 

"  Well,"  he  says,  "  there  is  something  else  on  your  mind, 
Jinks,  my  boy ;  what  is  it  ?  No  more  revenge  ?" 

"  Yes !" 

"  Against  whom,  you  epitome  of  Italian  hatred." 

Mr.  Jinks  frowns,  and  says  : 

"  Against  O'Brallaghan !" 


316          ME.   JINKS  DETERMINES  TO   SPARE  VERTY. 

"No!"  cries  Ralph. 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  I,  myself,  hate  that  man  !" 

"  Then  we  can  assist  each  other." 

"  Yes — yes." 

"  We  can  make  it  nice,  and  good,  and  fine,"  says  Mr.  Jinks, 
smacking  his  lips  over  the  rum,  as  if  he  was  imbibing  liquid  ven 
geance,  and  was  pleased  with  the  flavor. 

"  No  !"  cries  Ralph  again. 

"  Yes  !"  says  Mr.  Jinks. 

"  Revenge,  nice  and  good?" 

"  Supreme !" 

"How?" 

"  Listen !" 

"  Stop  a  moment,  my  dear  fellow,"  said  Ralph ;  "  don't  be 
hasty." 

And,  rising,  Ralph  went  to  the  door,  opened  it,  and  looked 
out  cautiously,  after  which,  he  closed  it,  and  turned  the  key  in 
the  lock ;  then  he  went  to  the  fire-place,  and  looked  up  the 
chimney  with  a  solemn  air  of  precaution,  which  was  very  striking. 
Then  he  returned  and  took  his  seat,  and  with  various  gurglings 
of  a  mysterious  nature  in  his  throat,  said  : 

"  You  have  a  communication  to  make,  Jinks  ?" 

"  I  have,  sir." 

"  In  relation  to  revenge." 

"  Yes." 

"Then  go  on,  old  fellow;  the  time  is  propitious — I  am 
listening." 

And  Ralph  looked  attentively  at  Mr.  Jinks. 


CHAPTER  LIII. 

PROJECTS  OF  REVENGE,  INVOLVING  HISTORICAL  DETAILS. 

THE  companions  looked  at  each  other  and  shook  their  heads ; 
Mr.  Jinks  threateningly,  Ralph  doubtfully.  That  gentleman 
seemed  to  be  dubious  of  his  friend's  ability  to  prepare  a  revenge 
suitable  to  the  deserts  of  O'Brallaghan,  who  had  sold  his  favorite 
coat. 

Mr.  Jinks,  however,  looked  like  a  man  certain  of  victory. 

"  Revenge,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Jinks,  "  is  of  two  descriptions.  There 
is  the  straight-forward,  simple,  vulgar  hitting  at  a  man,  or  can 
ing  him;  and  the  quiet,  artistic  arrangement  of  a  drama, 
which  comes  out  right,  sir,  without  fuss,  or  other  exterior 
effusion." 

j*;  And  after  this  masterly  distinction,  Mr.  Jinks  raised  his  head, 
and  regarded  Ralph  with  pride  and  complacency. 

"  Yes,  said  the  young  man  ;  "  what  you  say  is  very  true,  my 
boy  ;  go  on — go  on." 

"  Genius  is  shown,  sir,  in  the  manner  of  doing  it — " 
w    "Yes." 

"  Of  working  on  the  materials  around  you." 

"  True ;  that  is  the  test  of  genius ;  you  are  right.  Now  ex 
plain  your  idea." 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Jinks,  "  that  is  easy.  In  this  town, 
wherein  we  reside — I  refer  to  Winchester — there  are  two  prom 
inent  classes,  besides  the  English- Virginia  people." 

"  Are  there  ?" 


318  INVOLVING  HISTORICAL  DETAILS. 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Tell  me — you  mean — " 

"  The  natives  of  the  Emerald  Isle,  and  those  from  the  land  of 
sour  krout,"  said  Mr.  Jinks,  with  elegant  paraphrase. 

"  You  mean  Dutch  and  Irish  1" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Very  well;  I  understand  that.  Let  me  repeat :  in  the  town 
of  Winchester  there  are  two  classes,  besides  the  natives — Dutch 
and  Irish.  Is  that  right  ?  I  never  was  very  quick." 

"  Just  right." 

"  Well,  tell  me  about  them,  and  how  your  revenge  is  concerned 
with  them.  Tell  me  all  about  them.  Dutch  and  Irish  ! — I  know 
nothing  of  them." 

"  I  will,  sir, — I  will  tell  you,"  said  Mr.  Jinks,  gulping  down 
one-fourth  of  his  glass  of  rum ;  "  and,  I  think,  by  the  time  I  have 
developed  my  idea,  you  will  agree  with  me  that  the  revenge  I 
have  chalked  out,  sir,  is  worthy  of  an  inventive  talent  higher 
than  my  own." 

"  No,  no,"  said  Ralph,  in  a  tone  of  remonstrance,  "you  know 
there  could  be  none." 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Jinks,  modestly,  "I  know  myself,  sir — I 
have  very  little  merits,  but  there  are  those  who  are  superior  to 
me  in  that  point." 

Which  seemed  to  mean  that  the  quality  of  invention  was  the 
sole  failing  in  Mr.  Jinks'  intellect — all  his  other  mental  gifts 
being  undoubtedly  superior  to  similar  gifts  in  humanity  at  large. 

"  Well,  we  won't  interchange  compliments,  my  dear  fellow," 
replied  Ralph,  puffing  at  his  pipe ;  "  go  on  and  explain  about  the 
Dutch  and  Irish — I  repeat,  that  I  absolutely  know  nothing  of 
them." 

Mr.  Jinks  sipped  his  rum,  and  after  a  moment's  silence,  com 
menced. 

<•  You  must  know,"  he  said,  "  that  for  some  reason  which  I 


INVOLVING  HISTOKICAL  DETAILS.  319 

cannot  explain,  there  is  a  quarrel  between  these  people  which 
has  lasted  a  very  long  time,  and  it  runs  to  a  great  height — " 
"  Indeed !" 

"Yes  ;  and  on  certain  days  there  is  a  feeling  which  can  only 
be  characterized  by  the  assertion  that  the  opposite  parties  desire 
to  suffuse  the  streets  and  public  places  with  each  other's  gory 
blood !" 

"  No,  no  !"  said  Kalph ;  "  is  it  possible !" 
"  Yes,  sir,  it  is  more — it  is  true,"  said  Mr.  Jinks,  with  dignity. 
"  I  myself  have  been  present  on  such  occasions ;  and  the  amount 
of  national  feeling  displayed  is — is — worse  than  mouldy  cloth," 
observed  Mr.  Jinks,  at  a  loss  for  a  simile,  and  driven,  as  he, 
however,  very  seldom  was,  to  his  profession  for  an  illustration. 

"  I  wonder  at  that,"  said  Ralph;  "  as  bad  as  mouldy  cloth? 
I  never  would  have  thought  it!" 

"  Nevertheless  it's  true — dooms  true,"  said  Mr.  Jinks ;  "  and 
there  are  particular  days  when  the  rage  of  the  parties  comes  up 
in  one  opprobrious  concentrated  mass  !" 

This  phrase  was  borrowed  from  Miss  Sallianna.  Mr.  Jinks, 
like  other  great  men,  was  not  above  borrowing  without  giving 
the  proper  credit. 

"  On  St.  Patrick's  day,"  he  continued,  "  the  Dutch  turn  out  in 
a  body—" 

"  One  moment,  my  dear  fellow ;  I  don't  like  to  interrupt  you, 
but  this  St.  Patrick  you  speak  of — he  was  the  great  saint  of 
Ireland,  was  he  not  ?" 

"  Good — continue  ;  on  St.  Patrick's  day — " 
"  The  Dutch  assemble  and  parade  a  figure — you  understand, 
either  of  wood  or  a  man — a  figure  representing  St.  Patrick — " 
"  Possible !" 

"  Yes ;  and  round  his  neck  they  place  a  string  of  Irish  pota 
toes,  like  a  necklace — " 

"A  necklace!  what  an  idea.  Not  pearls  or  corals — pota 
toes  !" 


320  INVOLVING  HISTOKICAL   DETAILS. 

And  Ralph  laughed  with  an  expression  of  innocent  surprise, 
which  was  only  adopted  on  great  occasions. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Jinks,  "  of  potatoes  ;  and  you  may  imagine 
what  a  sight  it  is — the  saint  dressed  up  in  that  way." 

"  Really  !  it  must  be  side-splitting." 

"  It  is  productive  of  much  gory  sport,"  said  Mr.  Jinks. 

"Ah!"  said  Ralph,  "I   should  think  so.     Gory  is  the  very 
word." 

"  Besides  this  they  have  another  figure — " 

"  The  Dutch  have  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"What  is  it!" 
I     "  It  is  a  woman,  sir — " 

"  No — no,"  said  Ralph. 

"It  is,  sir,"  replied  Mr.  Jinks,  with  resolute  adherence  to  his 
original  declaration, — "  it  is  Saint  Patrick's  wife,  Sheeley — " 

"  Oh,  no !"  cried  Ralph. 

"  Yes ;  and  she  is  supplied  with  a  huge  apron  full  of — what 
do  you  think  ?" 

"Indulgences'?"  said  Ralph. 

"  No,  sir !" 

"  What  then  !" 

"  Potatoes  again." 

"  Potatoes  !  Sheeley  with  her  apron  full  of — " 

"  Excellent  Irish  potatoes." 

"  Would  anybody  have  imagined  such  a  desecration !" 

"  They  do  it,  sir  ;  and  having  thus  laughed  at  the  Irish,  the 
Dutch  go  parading  through  the  streets ;  and  in  consequence — " 

"  The  Irish—  1" 

«  Yes—" 

"  Make  bloody  noses  and  cracked  crowns,  and  pass  them  cur 
rent,  too  1"  asked  Ralph,  quoting  from  Shakspeare. 

"  Yes,  exactly,"  said  Mr.  Jinks ;    "  and  the  day  on  which  this 


INVOLVING  HISTOEICAL  DETAILS.  321 

takes  place — Saint  Patrick's  day — is  generally  submerged  in 
gore !" 

Ralph  remained  for  a  moment  overcome  with  horror  at  this 
dreadful  picture. 

"  Jinks,"  he  said,  at  last. 

"  Sir  T  said  Mr.  Jinks. 

"  I  fear  you  are  too  military  and  bloody  for  me.  My  nerves 
will  not  stand  these  awful  pictures  !" 

And  Ralph  shuddered  ;   or  perhaps  chuckled. 

"  That  is  only  half  of  the  subject,"  Mr.  Jinks  said,  displaying 
much  gratification  at  the  deep  impression  produced  upon  the 
feelings  of  his  companion ;  "  the  Irish,  on  St.  Michael's  day — 
the  patron  saint  of  the  Dutch,  you  know — " 

"Yes." 

"  The  Irish  take  their  revenge." 

And  at  the  word  revenge,  Mr.  Jinks'  brows  were  corrugated 
into  a  dreadful  frown. 

Ralph  looked  curious. 

"How1?"  he  said  ;  "  I  should  think  the  Dutch  had  exhausted 
the  power  and  capacity  of  invention.  St.  Patrick,  with  a  neck 
lace  of  potatoes,  and  his  wife  Sheeley,  with  an  apron  full  of  the 
same  vegetables,  is  surely  enough  for  one  day — " 

"  Yes,  for  St.  Patrick's  day,  but  not  for  St.  Michael's,"  said 
Mr.  Jinks,  with  a  faint  attempt  at  a  witticism. 

"  Good  !"  cried  Ralph  ;  "  you  are  a  wit,  Jinks  ;  but  proceed^ 
On  St.  Michael's  day — the  patron  saint  of  the  Dutch — " 

"  On  that  day,  sir,  the  Irish  retort  upon  the  Dutch  by  parading 
an  image — wooden  or  alive — of  St.  Michael — " 

"No!" 

"An  image,"  continued  Mr.  Jinks,  not  heeding  this  in 
terruption,  "  which  resembles  St.  Michael — that  tis,  a  hogs 
head." 

"  Yes,"  laughed  Ralph,  "  I  understand  how  a  Dutcu  saint—" 

14 


322  INVOLVING  HISTORICAL  DETAILS. 

"  IB  fat;  that  is  natural,  sir.     They  dress  him  in  six  pair  of 
pantaloons,   which  I  have    heretofore,    I  am  ashamed  to  say, 
fabricated," — Mr.  Jinks  frowned  here, — "  then  they  hang  around 
his  neck  a  rope  of  sour  krout — " 
"  No,  no  !"  cried  Ralph. 
"  And  so  parade  him,"  continued  Mr.  Jinks. 
Ralph  remained  silent  again,  as  though  overwhelmed  by  this 
picture. 

"  The  consequence  is,  that  the  Irish  feel  themselves  insulted," 
Mr.  Jinks  went  on,  "  and  they  attack  the  Dutch,  and  then  the 
whole  street — " 

"  Is  suffused  in  gory  blood,  is  it  not  ?"  said  Ralph,  inquir 
ingly. 

"  It  is,   sir,"  said  Mr.  Jinks ;  "  and  I  have  known  the  six 
pair  of  pantaloons,   made   by  my  own  hands,  to    be  torn   to 
tatters." 
«  Possible !" 

"  Yes,  sir !"  said  Mr.  Jinks,  irate  at  the  recollection  of  those 
old  scenes — he  had  been  compelled  to  mend  the  torn  pantaloons 
more  than  once — "  yes,  sir,  and  the  wretches  have  proceeded 
even  to  shooting  and  cutting,  which  is  worthy  of  them,  sir  !  On 
some  days,  the  Dutch  and  the  Irish  parade  their  images  together, 
and  then  St.  Patrick  and  St.  Michael  are  brought  face  to  face  ; 
and  you  may  understand  how  disgraceful  a  mob  they  have — 
a  mob,  sir,  which,  as  a  military  man,  I  long  to  mow  with  iron 
cannons !" 

And  after  this  dreadful  simile,  Mr.  Jinks  remained  silent, 
Ralph  also  held  his  peace  for  some  moments  ;  then  he  said  : 

"  But  your  revenge ;  how  is  that  connected,  my  dear  fellow, 
with  the  contentions  of  Dutch  and  Irish  ?" 
Mr,  Jinks  frowned. 

"  Thus,  sir,"  he  said  ;  "  I  will  explain." 
"  Do  ;  I  understand  you  to  say  that  these  customs  of  the  two 


INVOLVING  HISTORICAL  DETAILS.  323 

parties  were  the  materials  upon  which  your  genius  would  work. 
How  can  you — " 

"  Listen,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Jinks. 

"  I'm  all  ears,"  returned  Ralph. 

"  Three  days  from  this  time,"  said  Mr.  Jinks,  "  these  people 
have  determined  to  have  a  great  parade,  and  each  of  them,  the 
Dutch  and  Irish,  to  exhibit  the  images  of  the  Saints — " 

"Yes— ah?"  said  Ralph. 

"  It  is  fixed  for  the  time  I  mention  ;  and  now,  sir,  a  few 
words  will  explain  how,  without  damage  to  myself,  or  endanger 
ing  my  person — -considerations  which  I  have  no  right  to  neglect— 
my  revenge  on  the  hound,  O'Brallaghan,  will  come  out  right ! 
Listen,  while  I  tell  about  it ;  then,  sir,  judge  if  the  revenge  is 
likely  to  be  nice  and  good !" 

And  Mr.  Jinks  scowled,  and  gulped  down  some  rum.  He1 
then  paused  a  moment,  stared  the  fire-place  out  of  countenance, 
and  scowled  again.  He  then  opened  his  lips  to  speak. 

But  just  as  he  uttered  the  first  words  of  his  explanation,  a 
knock  was  heard  at  the  door,  which  arrested  him. 

Ralph  rose  and  opened  it. 

A  negro  handed  him  a  note,  with  the  information,  that 
the  bearer  thereof  was  waiting  below,  and  would  like  to  see 
him. 

Ralph  opened  the  letter,  and  found  some  money  therein,  which, 
with  the  signature,  explained  all. 

"  Jinks,  my  boy,"  he  said,  laughing,  "  we  must  defer  your  ex* 
planation ;  come  and  go  down.  The  Governor  has  sent  me  a 
note,  and  Tom  is  waiting.  Let  us  descend. 

Mr.  Jinks  acquiesced. 

They  accordingly  went  down  stairs,  and  issued  forth. 

At  the  door  of  the  tavern  was  standing  a  negro,  who,  at  sight 
of  Ralph,  respectfully  removed  his  cap  with  one  hand,  while 
the  other  arm  leaned  on  the  neck  of  a  donkey  about  three  feet 


324  INVOLVING-  HISTORICAL  DETAILS. 

high,  which  had  borne  the  stalwart  fellow,  as  such  animals 
only  can. 

The  negro  gave  Mr.  Ralph  a  message,  in  addition  to  the 
letter,  of  no  consequence  to  our  history,  and  received  one  in 
return. 

He  then  bowed  again,  and  was  going  to  mount  and  ride  away, 
when  Ralph  said,  "  Stop,  Tom  !" 

Tom  accordingly  stopped. 


CHAPTER  LIV. 

EXPLOITS    OF    FODDER. 

RALPH  looked  from  the  donkey  to  Mr.  Jinks,  and  from  Mr. 
Jinks  to  the  donkey ;  then  he  laughed. 

"I  say,  my  dear  fellow,"  he  observed,  "you  wanted  ahorse, 
did'nt  you?" 

"  I  did,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Jinks. 

"  What  do  you  say  to  a  donkey?" 

Mr.  Jinks  appeared  thoughtful,  and  gazing  at  the  sky,  as  though 
the  clouds  interested  him,  replied  : 

"  I  have  no  objection  to  the  animal,  sir.  It  was  in  former 
times,  I  am  assured,  the  animal  used  by  kings,  and  even  empe 
rors.  Far  be  it  from  me,  therefore,  to  feel  any  pride — or  look 
down  on  the  donkey." 

"  You'll  have  to,"  said  Ralph. 

"  Have  to  what,  sir  ?" 

"  Look  down  on  Fodder  here — we  call  him  Fodder  at  the 
farm,  because  the  rascal  won't  eat  thistles." 

"  Fodder,  sir  ?"  said  Mr.  Jinks,  gazing  along  the  road,  as 
though  in  search  of  some  wagon,  laden  with  cornstalks. 

"  The  donkey  !" 

"  Ah  ? — yes — true — the  donkey !  Really,  a  very  handsome 
animal,"  said  Mr.  Jinks,  appearing  to  be  aware  of  the  existence 
of  Fodder  for  the  first  time. 

"  I  asked  you  how  you  would  like  a  donkey,  instead  of  a  horse, 
meaning,  in  fact,  to  ask  if  Fodder  would,  for  the  time,  answer 


326  EXPLOITS  OF   FODDER. 

your  warlike  and  gallant  purposes  ?  If  so,  my  dear  fellow,  I'll 

lend  him  to  you Tom  can  go  back  to  the  farm  in  the  wagon 

— it  comes  and  goes  every  day." 

Tom  looked  at  Mr.  Jinks'  legs,  scratched  his  head,  and  grin 
ning  from  ear  to  ear,  added  the  assurance  that  he  was  rather 
pleased  to  get  rid  of  Fodder,  who  was  too  small  for  a  man  of  his 
weight. 

Mr.  Jinks  received  these  propositions  and  assurances,  at  first, 
with  a  shake  of  the  head :  he  really  could  not  deprive,  etc. ; 
then  he  looked  dubious ;  then  he  regarded  Fodder  with  admira 
tion  and  affection ;  then  he  assented  to  Ralph's  arrangement,  and 
put  his  arm  affectionately  around  Fodder's  neck. 

"  I  love  that  animal  already !"  cried  the  enthusiastic  Mr. 
Jinks. 

Ralph  turned  aside  to  laugh. 

"  That  is  highly  honorable,  Jinks,  my  boy,"  he  said ;  "  there's 
no  trait  of  character  more  characteristic  of  a  great  and  exalted 
intellect,  than  kindness  to  animals." 

"  You  flatter  me,  sir." 

"  Never — I  never  flatter.  Now,  Tom,"  continued  Ralph  to 
the  negro,  "  return  homeward,  and  inform  my  dear  old  Gover 
nor  that,  next  week,  I  shall  return,  temporarily,  to  make  prepa- 
tions  for  my  marriage.  Further,  relate  to  him  the  fate  of  Fod 
der — go,  sir." 

And  throwing  Tom,  who  grinned  and  laughed,  a  piece  of 
silver,  Ralph  turned  again  to  Jinks. 

"  Do  you  like  Fodder  ?"  he  said. 

"I  consider  him  the  paragon  of  donkeys,"  returned  Mr. 
Jinks.  *'!  ^ 

And,  hugging  the  donkey's  neck — "  Eh,  Fodder  ?"  said  Jinks. 

Fodder  turned  a  sleepy  looking  eye,  which  was  covered  with 
the  broad,  square  leather  of  the  wagon-bridle,  toward  Mr.  Jinks, 
and  regarded  that  gentleman  with  manifest  curiosity.  Then 


EXPLOITS   OF   FODDER.  327 

shaking  his  head,  lowered  it  again,  remonstrating  with  his 
huge  ears  against  the  assaults  of  the  flics. 

"  He  likes  you  already  !  he  admires  and  respects  you,  Jinks  !" 
cried  Ralph,  bursting  into  a  roar  of  laughter ;  "  a  ride  !  a  ride  ! 
mount,  sir!" 

"  Is  he  vicious?"  asked  Mr.  Jinks. 

"  Hum !  he  has  been  known  to — to — do  dreadful  things!"  said 
Ralph,  choking. 

Mr.  Jinks  drew  back. 

"  But  he  won't  hurt  you — -just  try." 

"  Hum !  I'd  rather  test  his  character  first,"  said  Mr.  Jinks ; 
"  of  course  I'm  not  afraid ;  it  would  be  unnecessary  for  me  to 
prove  that,  sir — I  wear  a  sword — " 

"  Oh,  yes  !" 

"But  dangerous  accidents  have  frequently  resulted  from — " 

"  Donkeys'?  you  are  right.  But  suppose  I  mount  with  you  !" 
said  Ralph,  who  had  fallen  into  one  of  his  mischievous  moods. 

"Hum!  sir — will  he  carry  double,  do  you  think?" 

"  Carry  double !  He'd  carry  a  thousand — Fodder  would  ! 
Just  get  into  the  saddle,  and  I'll  put  my  handkerchief  on  his 
back,  and  mount  behind — I'll  guide  him.  Come !" 

And  Ralph,  with  a  suppressed  chuckle,  pushed  Mr.  Jinks 
toward  the  saddle. 

Mr.  Jinks  looked  round — cleared  his  throat — glanced  at  the 
expression  of  the  donkey's  eyes — and  endeavored  to  discover 
from  the  movement  of  his  ears  if  he  was  vicious.  Fodder 
seemed  to  be  peaceful — Mr.  Jinks  got  into  the  saddle,  his  grass 
hopper  legs  reaching  nearly  to  the  ground. 

"  Now  !"  cried  Ralph,  vaulting  behind  him,  "  now  for  a  ride  !" 

And  seizing  the  reins,  before  Mr.  Jinks  could  even  get  his  feet 
into  the  stirrups,  the  young  man  kicked  the  donkey  vigorously, 
and  set  off  at  a  gallop. 

Mr.  Jinks  leaned  forward  in  the  saddle  with  loud  cries, 
balancing  himself  by  the  pummel,  and  holding  on  to  the  mane. 


328  EXPLOITS  OF   FODDER. 

Fodder  was  frightened  by  the  cries,  and  ran  like  a  race-horse, 
kicking  up  his  heels,  and  indeed  rendered  Ralph's  position  some 
what  perilous.  But  that  gentleman  was  experienced,  from  earliest 
infancy,  in  riding  bareback,  and  held  on.  He  also  held  Mr.  Jinks 
on. 

The  great  swordsman  continued  to  utter  loud  cries,  and  to  re 
monstrate  piteously.  Only  the  clatter  of  his  sword,  and  Ralph's 
shouts  of  laughter,  answered  him. 

Still  on  !  and  in  five  minutes  Fodder  was  opposite  the  store  of 
O'Brallaghan. 

A  brilliant  idea  suddenly  struck  Ralph  ;  with  the  rapidity  and 
presence  of  mind  of  a  great  general,  he  put  it  into  execution. 

Fodder  found  one  rein  loosened — the  other  drawn  violently 
round ;  the  consequence  was,  that  from  a  straight  course,  he 
suddenly  came  to  adopt  a  circular  one.  Mr.  Jinks  had  just  saved 
himself  by  wrapping  his  legs,  so  to  speak,  around  the  donkey's 
person,  when  Ralph's  design  was  accomplished. 

Fodder,  obeying  the  pull  upon  the  rein,  sweeped  down  upon 
O'Brallaghan's  shop,  and  in  the  midst  of  the  cries  of  babies,  the 
barking  of  dogs,  and  the  shrill  screams  of  elderly  ladies,  entered 
the  broad  door  of  the  clothes-warehouse,  and  thrust  his  nose  into 
Mr.  O'Brallaghan's  face,  just  as  that  gentleman  was  cutting  out 
the  sixth  pair  of  pantaloons  for  himself,  in  which  he  was  to 
personate  St.  Michael. 

O'Brallaghan  staggered  back — Ralph  burst  into  a  roar  of 
laughter,  and  sliding  from  Fodder,  ignominiously  retreated,  leaving 
Mr.  Jinks  and  O'Brallaghan  face  to  face. 

The  scene  which  then  ensued  is  dreadful  to  even  reflect  upon, 
after  the  lapse  of  so  many  years.  Fodder  backed  into  the  street 
immediately,  but  he  had  accomplished  the  insult  to  O'Brallaghan. 
That  gentleman  ran  out  furiously,  shears  in  hand,  and  with  these 
instruments  it  seemed  to  be  his  intention  to  sever  the  epiglottis  of 
Mr.  Jinks,  or  at  least  his  ears. 

But,  as  on  a  former  occasion,  when  Mr.  Jinks  threatened  to 


EXPLOITS  OF  FODDER.  329 

rid  the  earth  of  a  scoundrel  and  a  villain,  the  execution  of  this 
scheme  was  prevented  by  the  interposition  of  a  third  party ;  so  on 
the  present  occasion  did  the  neighbors  interfere  and  quiet  the 
combatants. 

Ralph  perfected  the  reconciliation  by  declaring  that  Fodder 
was  the  most  vicious  and  dangerous  of  animals,  and  that  no  one 
could  rationally  wonder  at  his  conduct  on  this  occasion. 

O'Brallaghan  thereupon  observed  that  he  despised  Mr.  Jinks 
too  much  to  touch  him,  and  would  forgive  him ;  and  so  he 
elbowed  his  way  through  the  crowd  of  gossips  and  re-entered  his 
shop,  scowling  at,  and  being  scowled  at  by,  the  severe  Mr. 
Jinks. 

Ralph  also  embraced  the  opportunity  to  slip  through  the 
crowd,  and  hasten  round  a  corner  ;  having  achieved  which  move 
ment,  he  leaned  against  a  pump,  and  laughed  until  two  babies 
playing  on  the  side-walk  nearly  choked  themselves  with  marbles 
as  they  gazed  at  him.  Then  chuckling  to  himself,  the  young 
worthy  returned  toward  the  tavern,  leaving  Mr.  Jinks  to  his  fate. 


CHAPTER  LV. 

WOMAN    TRAPS    LAID    BY    MR.    JINKS. 

No  sooner  had  O'Brallaghan  retreated  into  his  store,  than  Mr. 
Jinks  cast  after  him  defiant  words  and  gestures,  calling  on  the 
crowd  to  take  notice  that  O'Brallaghan  had  ignominiously  yielded 
ground,  and  declined  his,  Mr.  Jinks',  proposition  to  have  a  com 
bat. 

If  any  wonder  is  felt  at  Mr.  Jinks'  bravery,  we  may  dispel  it, 
probably,  by  explaining  that  Mr.  O'Brallaghan  had  two  or 
three  months  before  been  bound  over  in  a  large  sum  to  keep  the 
peace  of  the  commonwealth  against  the  inhabitants  of  the  said 
commonwealth,  and  especially  that  portion  of  them  who  dwelt 
in  the  borough  of  Winchester ;  which  fact  Mr.  Jinks  was  well 
acquainted  with,  and  shaped  his  conduct  by.  If  there  was  any 
thing  which  O'Brallaghan  preferred  to  a  personal  encounter  with 
fists  or  shillelahs,  that  object  was  money  ;  and  Mr.  Jinks  knew 
that  O'Brallaghan  would  not  touch  him. 

Therefore  Mr.  Jinks  sent  words  of  defiance  and  menace  after 
the  retreating  individual,  and  said  to  the  crowd,  with  dignified 
calmness : 

"  My  friends,  I  call  you  to  bear  witness  that  I  have  offered  to 
give  this — this — person,"  said  Mr.  Jinks,  "  the  amplest  satisfac 
tion  in  my  power  for  the  unfortunate  conduct  of  my  animal, 
which  I  have  just  purchased  at  a  large  sum,  and  have  not 
exactly  learned  to  manage  yet.  We  have  not  come  to  under 
stand  each  Qtfyer-^myself  and  Fodder — just  yet ;  and  in  passing 


WOMAN  TRAPS  LAID   BY  MR.   JINKS.  331 

with  a  young  man  whom  I  kindly  permitted  to  mount  behind  me, 
the  animal  ran  into  the  shop  of  this — individual.  If  he  wants 
satisfaction  !"  continued  Mr.  Jinks,  frowning,  and  laying  his  hand 
upon  his  sword,  "  he  can  have  it,  sir  !  yes,  sir  !  I  am  ready,  sir  ! 
— now  and  always,  sir  !" 

These  words  were  ostensibly  addressed  to  Mr.  O'Brallaghan, 
who  was,  in  contempt  of  Mr.  Jinks,  busily  engaged  at  his  work 
again ;  but,  in  reality,  the  whole  harangue  of  Mr*  Jinks  was  in 
tended  for  the  ears  of  a  person  in  the  crowd,  who,  holding  a  hot 
"  iron "  in  her  hand,  had  run  up,  like  the  rest,  when  the  occur 
rence  first  took  place. 

This  person,  who  was  of  the  opposite  sex,  and  upon  whom  Mr. 
Jinks  evidently  desired  to  produce  an  impression,  gazed  at  the 
cavalier  with  tender  melancholy  in  her  ruddy  face,  and  espe 
cially  regarded  the  legs  of  Mr.  Jinks  with  unconcealed  admiration. 

It  was  Mistress  O'Calligan,  the  handsome  ruddy  lady,  whom 
we  have  met  with  once  before,  on  that  day  when  Mr.  Jinks,  re 
membering  O'Brallaghan' s  incapacity  to  fight,  challenged  that 
gentleman  to  mortal  combat. 

Between  this  lady  and  Mr.  Jinks,  on  the  present  occasion, 
glances  passed  more  than  once  ;  and  when — O'Brallaghan  not 
appearing — Mr.  Jinks  rode  away  from  the  shop  of  the  dastard, 
in  dignified  disgust,  he  directed  the  steps  of  Fodder,  cautiously 
and  gently,  around  the  corner,  and  stopped  before  the  door  of 
Mistress  O'Calligan's  lodging. 

The  lamented  O'Calligan  was  gone  to  that  bourne  which  we 
all  know  of,  and  his  widow  now  supported  herself  and  the  two 
round,  dirty-faced  young  gentlemen  who  had  choked  themselves 
in  their  astonishment  at  Ralph,  by  taking  in  washing  and  iron 
ing,  to  which  she  added,  occasionally,  the  occupation  and  mys 
tery  of  undergarment  construction. 

Thanks  to  these  toils,  Mistress  O'Calligan,  who  was  yet  young 
and  handsome,  and  strong  and  healthy,  had  amassed  a  very  snug 
little  sum  of  money,  which  she  had  invested  in  a  garden,  numer- 


332  WOMAN   TRAPS  LAID   BY   MR.   JINKS. 

ous  pigs,  chickens,  and  other  things  ;  and,  in  the  neighborhood, 
this  lady  was  regarded  as  one  destined  to  thrive  in  the  world  ; 
and  eventually  bring  to  the  successor  of  the  lamented  O'Calligan, 
not  only  her  fair  self,  and  good-humored  smile  included,  but  also 
no  contemptible  portion  of  this  world's  goods. 

O'Brallaghan's  ambition  was  to  succeed  the  lamented.  He 
had  long  made  unsuccessful  court  to  the  lady — in  vain.  He  sus 
pected,  not  without  justice,  that  the  graceful  and  military  Mr. 
Jinks  had  made  an  impression  on  the  lady's  heart,  and  hated  Mr. 
Jinks  accordingly. 

It  was  before  the  low,  comfortable  cottage  of  Mistress  O'Cal 
ligan,  therefore,  that  Mr.  Jinks  stopped.  And  tying  Fodder  to 
the  pump,  he  pushed  aside  the  under-tunics  which  depended  from 
lines,  and  were  fluttering  in  the  wind,  and  so  made  his  entrance 
into  the  dwelling. 

Mistress  O'Calligan  pretended  to  be  greatly  surprised  and  flut 
tered  on  Mr.  Jinks'  entrance ;  and  laid  down  the  iron  she  was 
trying,  by  putting  her  finger  in  her  mouth,  and  then  applying  it 
to  the  under  surface. 

She  then  smiled  ;  and  declared  she  never  was  in  such  a  tak 
ing  ;  and  to  prove  this,  sat  down  and  panted,  and  screamed  good- 
humoredly  to  the  youthful  O'Calligans,  not  to  go  near  that 
pretty  horse  ;  and  then  asked  Mr.  Jinks  if  he  would'nt  take 
something. 

Mr.  Jinks  said,  with  great  dignity,  that  he  thought  he  would. 

Thereupon,  Mistress  O'Calligan  produced  a  flat  bottle  of  po 
teen,  and  pouring  a  portion  for  her  own  fair  self,  into  a  cup, 
said  that  this  was  a  wicked  world,  and  handed  the  flask  to  Mr. 
Jinks. 

That  gentleman  took  a  tolerably  large  draught ;  and  then  set 
ting  down  the  bottle,  scowled. 

This  terrified  Mistress  O'Calligan  ;  and  she  said  so. 

Mr.  Jinks  explained  that  he  was  angry, — in  a  towering  rage  ; 


WOMAN   TRAPS  LAID  BY  MR.   JINKS.  333 

and  added,  that  nothing  but  the  presence  of  Mistress  O'Calligan 
had  prevented  him  from  exterminating  O'Brallaghan,  who  was 
a  wretched  creature,  beneath  the  contempt,  etc. 

Whereto  the  lady  replied,  Really,  to  think  it ;  but  that  these 
feelings  was  wrong ;  and  she  were  only  too  happy  if  her  presence 
had  prevented  bloodshed.  She  thought  that  Mr.  Jinks  was  flat 
tering  her — with  more  of  the  same  description. 

Thus  commenced  this  interview,  which  the  loving  and  flattered 
Mistress  O'Calligan  wrongly  supposed  to  be  intended  as  one  of 
courtship,  on  the  part  of  Mr.  Jinks.  She  was  greatly  mistaken. 
If  ever  proceeding  was  calm,  deliberate,  and  prompted  by  revenge 
ful  and  diabolical  intentions,  the  proceeding  of  Mr.  Jinks,  on 
the  present  occasion,  was  of  that  description. 

But  none  of  this  appeared  upon  the  countenance  of  our  friend. 
Mr.  Jinks  was  himself — he  was  gallant,  impressive  ;  and  warming 
with  the  rum,  entered  into  details  of  his  private  feelings. 

He  had  ever  admired  and  venerated — he  said — the  character 
of  the  beautiful  and  fascinating  Judith  O'Calligan,  who  had 
alone,  and  by  her  unassisted  merits,  removed  from  his  character 
that  tendency  toward  contempt  and  undervaluation  of  women, 
which,  he  was  mortified  to  say,  he  had  been  induced  to  feel  from 
an  early  disappointment  in  love. 

Mistress  O'Calligan  here  looked  very  much  flurried,  and  ejac 
ulated,  Lor ! 

Mr.  Jinks  proceeded  to  say,  that  the  lady  need  not  feel  any 
concern  for  him  now ;  that  the  early  disappointment  spoken  of, 
had,  it  was  true,  cast  a  shadow  on  his  life,  which,  he  imagined, 
nothing  but  the  gory  blood  of  his  successful  rival  could  remove  ; 
that  still  he,  Mr.  Jinks,  had  had  the  rare,  good  fortune  of  meet 
ing  with  a  divine  charmer  who  caused  him  to  forget  his  past  sor 
rows,  and  again  indulge  in  hopes  of  domestic  felicity  and  paternal 
happiness  by  the  larean  altars  of  a  happy  home.  That  the  vis 
ions  of  romance  had  never  pictured  such  a  person  ;  that  the  lady 


334  WOMAN   TKAPS  LAID    BY  MR.   JINKS. 

whom  he  spoke  of,  was  well  known  to  the  lady  whom  he  ad 
dressed  ;  and,  indeed,  to  be  more  explicit,  was  not  ten  thousand 
miles  from  them  at  the  moment  in  question. 

This  was  so  very  broad,  that  the  "  lady"  in  question  blushed 
the  color  of  the  red  bricks'  in  her  fire-place,  and  declared  that  Mr. 
Jinks  was  the  dreadfulest  creature,  and  he  need'nt  expect  to 
persuade  her  that  he  liked  her — no,  he  need'nt. 

Mr.  Jinks  repelled  the  accusation  of  being  a  dreadful  creature, 
and  said,  that  however  terrifying  his  name  might  be  to  his  ene 
mies  among  the  men,  that  no  woman  had  ever  yet  had  cause  to 
be  afraid  of  him,  or  to  complain  of  him. 

After  which,  Mr.  Jinks  frowned,  and  took  a  gulp  of  the  po 
teen. 

Mistress  O'Calligan  thought  that  Mr.  Jinks  was  very  wrong 
to  be  talking  in  such  a  meaning  way  to  her — and  the  lamented 
O'Calligan  not  dead  two  years.  That  she  knew  what  it  was  to 
bestow  her  affections  on  an  object,  which  object  did  not  return 
them — and  never,  never  could  be  brought  to  trust  the  future  of 
those  blessed  dears  a-playing  on  the  side-walk  to  a  gay  deceiver. 

After  which  observation,  Mistress  O'Calligan  took  up  a  corner 
of  her  apron,  and  made  a  feint  to  cry  ;  but  not  being  encouraged 
by  any  consternation,  agitation,  or  objection  of  any  description 
on  the  part  of  her  companion,  changed  her  mind,  and  smiled. 

Mr.  Jinks  said  that  if  the  paragon  of  her  sex,  the  lovely  Judith, 
meant  to  say  that  he  was  a  gay  deceiver,  the  assertion  in  ques 
tion  involved  a  mistake  of  a  cruel  and  opprobrious  character. 
So  far  from  being  a  deceiver,  he  had  himself  been  uniformly  de 
ceived  ;  and  that  in  the  present  instance,  it  was  much  more 
probable  that  he  would  suffer,  because  the  lovely  charmer  before 
him  cared  nothing  for  him. 

Which  accusation  threw  the  lovely  charmer  into  a  nutter,  and 
caused  her  to  deny  the  truth  of  Mr.  Jinks'  charge ;  and  in  addi 
tion,  to  assert  that  there  existed  no  proof  of  the  fact  that  she 
did'nt  care  much  more  for  Mr.  Jinks  than  he  did  for  her — and 


WOMAN  TRAPS  LAID   BY  MR.   JINKS.  335 

whether  he  said  she  did'nt,  or  did'nt  say  she  did'nt,  still  that  this 
did'nt  change  the  fact :  and  so  he  was  mistaken. 

Whereupon  Mr.  Jinks,  imbibing  more  poteen,  replied  that  as 
sertions,  though  in  themselves  worthy  of  high  respect  when  they 
issued  from  so  lovely  and  fascinating  a  source,  could  still  not  stand 
in  opposition  to  facts. 

Mistress  O'Calligan  asked  what  facts.- 

"Which  caused  Mr.  Jinks  to  explain.  He  meant,  that  the 
test  of  affection  was  doing  one  a  service ;  that  the  loving  indi 
vidual  would  perform  what  the  beloved  wished ;  and  that  here 
the  beautiful  Judith  was  deficient. 

To  which  the  beautiful  Judith,  with  a  preparatory  caution  to 
the  young  O'Calligans,  replied  by  saying,  that  she  had  never 
been  tried  ;  and  if  that  was  all  the  foundation  for  such  a  charge, 
the  best  way  to  prove  its  falseness  was  to  immediately  test  her — 
friendship. 

At  this  Mr.  Jinks  brightened  up,  and  leaning  over  toward  the 
ruddy-faced  Judith,  whispered  for  some  minutes.  The  whispers 
brought  to  the  lady's  face  a  variety  of  expressions :  consterna 
tion,  alarm,  doubt,  objection,  refusal.  Kefusal  remained  par 
amount.  | 

Mr.  Jinks  imbibed  more  poteen,  and  observed,  with  dignity, 
that  he  had  been  perfectly  well  aware,  before"  making  his  com 
munication,  that  the  protestations  of  the  lady  opposite  to  whom 
he  sat  were  like  those  of  ladies  in  general,  calculated  to  mislead 
and  deceive.  He  would  therefore  not  annoy  her  further,  but 
seek  some  other — 

Incipient  tears  from  the  lady,  who  thought  Mr.  Jinks  cruel, 
unreasonable,  and  too  bad. 

Mr.  Jinks  was  rational,  and  had  asked  a  very  inconsiderable 
favor ;  his  beautiful  acquaintance,  Miss  Sallianna,  would  not 
hesitate  a  moment  to  oblige  him,  and  he  would  therefore  re 
spectfully  take  his  departure — for  some  time,  he  was  afraid,  if 
not  forever. 


336  WOMAN  TEAPS  LAID  BY  MR.   JINKS. 

Mr.  Jinks  had  played  his  game  with  much  skill,  and  great 
knowledge  of  the  lady  whom  he  addressed.  He  brought  out  his 
trump,  so  to  speak,  when  he  mentioned  Miss  Sallianna,  and 
alluded  to  his  intention  never  to  return,  perhaps. 

The  lady  could  not  resist.  The  moment  had  arrived  when 
she  was  to  decide  whether  she  should  supply  the  youthful  O'Cal- 
ligans  with  a  noble  father  and  protector,  or  suffer  them  still  to 
inhabit  the  dangerous  side-walk  in  infant  helplessness,  and  ex 
posed  to  every  enemy. 

Therefore  the  fair  Mistress  O'Calligan  found  her  resolution 
evaporate — her  objections  removed — she  consented  to  comply 
with  Mr.  Jinks'  request,  because  the  object  of  her  affections 
made  it — yes,  the  object  of  her  affections  for  many  a  long  day, 
through  every  accusation  of  cabbaged  cloth,  and  other  things 
brought  by  his  enemies — the  object  of  her  ambition,  the  destined 
recipient  of  the  garden,  and  the  chickens,  and  the  pigs,  when  fate 
removed  her ! 

And  having  uttered  this  speech  with  great  agitation,  and 
numerous  gasps,  Mistress  O'Calligan  yielded  to  her  nerves,  and 
reposed  upon  Mr.  Jinks'  breast. 

Fifteen  minutes  afterwards  Mr.  Jinks  was  going  back  to 
Bousch's  tavern,  mounted  on  Fodder,  and  grimacing. 

"  She'll  do  it,  sir!  she'll  do  it !"  said  Mr.  Jinks  ;  "  we'll  see. 
Look  out  for  gory  blood,  sir!" 

And  that  was  all. 


CHAPTER  LVI. 

TAKES    VERTY    TO    MR.    ROUNDJACKET. 

As  Mr.  Jinks  went  along,  thus  absorbed  in  his  dreams  of  ven 
geance,  he  chanced  to.  raise  his  head ;  -which  movement  made  him 
aware  of  the  fact  that  a  gentleman  with  whom  he  was  well  ac 
quainted  rode  in  the  same  direction  with  himself — that  is  to  say, 
toward  Bousch's  tavern. 

This  was  Verty,  who,  absorbed  as  completely  by  his  own 
thoughts  as  was  Mr.  Jinks,  did  not  see  that  gentleman  until  Cloud 
very  nearly  walked  over  the  diminutive  Fodder. 

Mr.  Jinks  laid  his  hand  on  his  sword,  and  frowned ;  for  it 
was  one  of  the  maxims  of  this  great  militaire,  that  one  is  never 
more  apt  to  escape  an  attack  than  when  he  appears  to  hold  him 
self  in  readiness,  and  seems  prepared  for  either  event. 

Verty  did  not  consider  himself  bound,  however,  to  engage  in  a 
combat  at  the  moment ;  and  so  with  grave  politeness,  bowed 
and  passed  on  his  way. 

They  arrived  at  the  tavern  nearly  at  the  same  moment. 

Ralph  was  sitting  on  the  porch,  inhaling  the  fresh  October 
air,  gazing  at  the  bright  waves  of  the  little  stream  which  sparkled 
by,  beneath  the  willows  ;  and  at  times  varying  these  amusements 
by  endeavoring  to  smoke  from  a  pipe  which  had  gone  out.  He 
looked  the  picture  of  indolent  enjoyment. 

Within  a  few  feet  of  him  sat  the  ruddy,  full-faced  landlord,  as 
idle  as  himself. 


338  TAKES  VEBTY  TO   MR.   ROUNDJACKET. 

At  sight  of  Mr.  Jinks  and  Verty,  Ralph  rose  with  a  smile,  and 
came  toward  them. 

"  Ah !  my  dear  Jinks,"  he  said,  after  bowing  to  Verty  famili 
arly,  "  how  did  you  get  out  of  that  scrape  1  I  regret  that  busi 
ness  of  a  private  and  important  nature  forced  me  to  leave  yon, 
and  go  round  the  corner.  How  did  it  result  ?" 

"  Triumphantly,  sir  !"  said  Mr.  Jinks,  dismounting,  and,  with 
great  dignity,  entrusting  Fodder  to  a  stable-boy,  lounging  near ; 
"  that  hound,  O'Brallaghan,  knew  his  place,  sir,  and  did  not  pre 
sume  to  complain — " 

"Of  Fodder?" 

"  Of  anything,  sir." 

"  The  fact  is,  it  would  have  been  ridiculous.  What  had  he  to 
complain  of,  I  should  like  to  be  informed.  So  he  retreated  1" 

"He  did,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Jinks,  with  dignity,  "  amid  the  hisses 
of  the  assembled  crowd." 

"  Just  as  I  suspected ;  it  would  take  a  bold  fellow  to  force 
such  a  Don  Quixote  and  Dapple,  as  yourself  and  Fodder !" 

"  Yes  ;  although  I  regretted,"  said  Mr.  Jinks,  with  great  dig 
nity,  "  the  accident  which  occurred  when  we  set  out,  I  rejoice  at 
having  had  an  occasion  to  inform  that  Irish  conspirator  and  St. 
Michael-hater,  that  I  held  him  in  opprobrious  contempt." 

And  Mr.  Jinks  glanced  at  the  landlord. 

"  He  was  making  the  breeches  for  St.  Michael,  whom  he  is  to 
represent,"  said  Mr.  Jinks,  "  day  after  to-morrow ;  and  I  have 
not  done  with  him — the  Irish  villain  !" 

Mr.  Jinks  looked  again,  significantly,  at  the  host. 

That  gentleman  had  not  lost  a  word  of  the  conversation,  and 
his  sleepy  eyes  now  opened.  He  beckoned  to  Mr.  Jinks.  A 
smile  illumined  the  countenance  of  the  worthy — the  landlord 
was  a  German ; — the  plot  against  Irish  O'Brallaghan  was  gaining 
strength. 

The  landlord  rose,  and,  with  a  significant  look,  entered  the 
house,  followed  by  Mr.  Jinks,  who  turned  his  head,  as  he  disap 
peared,  to  cast  a  triumphant  look  upon  Ralph. 


TAKES  VERTY  TO  MR.  ROUNDJACKET.       339 

No  sooner  had  he  passed  from  sight,  than  Ralph  turned  to 
Verty,  who  had  sat  quietly  upon  Cloud,  during  this  colloquy, 
and  burst  into  laughter. 

"  That  is  the  greatest  character  I  have  ever  known,  Verty," 
he  said ;  "  and  I  have  been  amusing  myself  witli  him  all  the 
morning." 

Verty  was  thinking,  and  without  paying  much  attention  to 
Ralph,  smiled,  and  said  : 

"  Anan  ? — yes — " 

"  I  believe  you  are  dreaming." 

"  Oh,  no — only  thinking,"  said  Verty,  smiling  ;  "  I  can't  get 
out  of  the  habit,  and  I  really  don't  think  I  heard  you.  But  I 
can't  stop.  Here's  a  note  Redbud  asked  me  to  give  you — for 
Fanny.  She  said  you  might  be  going  up  to  old  Scowley's — " 

"  Might  be  !  I  rather  think  I  am !  Ah,  Miss  Redbud,  you 
are  a  mischievous  one.  But  why  take  the  trouble  to  say  that 
of  the  divine  sex?  They're  all  dangerous,  scheming  and 
satirical." 

"  Anan  ?"  said  Verty,  smiling,  as  he  tossed  Ralph  the  note. 

"  Don't  mind  me,"  said  Ralph;  "  I  was  just  talking,  as  usual, 
at  random,  and  slandering  the  sex.  But  what  are  you  sitting 
there  for,  my  dear  Verty?  Get  down  and  come  in.  I'm  dying 
of  weariness." 

Verty  shook  his  head. 

"  I  must  go  and  see  Mr.  Roundjacket,"  he  said. 

"What!  is  he  sick?" 

"  Yes." 

"Much?" 

Verty  smiled. 

"  I  think  not,"  he  said;  "  but  I  don't  know — I  havn't  much 
time  ;  good-bye." 

And  touching  Cloud  with  the  spur,  Verty  went  on.  Ralph 
looked  after  him  for  a  moment,  twirled  the  note  in  his  fingers, 
read  the  superscription,- — "  To  Miss  Fanny  Temple," — and  then, 


34.0  TAKES  VERTY  TO   MR.   ROUNDJACKET. 

laughing  carelessly,  lounged  into  the  house,  intent  on  making  a 
third  in  the  councils  of  those  great  captains,  Mr.  Jinks  and  the 
landlord. 

We  shall  accompany  Verty,  who  rode  on  quietly,  and  soon 
issued  from  the  town — that  is  to  say,  the  more  bustling  portion 
of  it ;  for  Winchester,  at  that  time,  consisted  of  but  two  streets, 
and  even  these  were  mere  roads,  as  they  approached  the  suburbs. 

Roundjacket's  house  was  a  handsome  little  cottage,  embowered 
in  trees,  on  the  far  western  outskirts  of  the  town.  Here  the 
poet  lived  in  bachelor  freedom,  and  with  a  degree  of  comfort 
which  might  have  induced  any  other  man  to  be  satisfied  with  his 
condition.  We  know,  from  his  own  assertion,  that  Roundjacket 
was  not ; — he  had  an  excellent  little  house,  a  beautiful  garden, 
every  comfort  which  an  ample  "estate"  could  bring  him,  but 
he  had  no  wife.  That  was  the  one  thing  needful. 

Verty  dismounted,  and  admiring  the  beautiful  sward,  the  well 
tended  flowers,  and  the  graceful  appendages  of  the  mansion — 
from  the  bronze  knocker,  with  Minerva's  head  upon  it,  to  the 
slight  and  comfortable  wicker  smoking-chairs  upon  the  porch — 
opened  the  little  gate,  and  knocked. 

An  old  negro  woman,  who  superintended,  with  the  assistance 
of  her  equally  aged  husband,  this  bachelor  paradise,  appeared  at 
the  door ;  and  hearing  Verty's  request  of  audience,  was  going  to 
prefer  it  to  Mr.  Roundjacket. 

This  was  rendered  unnecessary,  however,  by  the  gentleman 
himself.  He  called  from  the  comfortable  sitting-room  to  Verty, 
and  the  visitor  entered. 


CHAPTER  LVII. 

CONTAINS  AN  EXTRAORDINARY  DISCLOSURE. 

ROUNDJACKET  was  clad  in  a  handsome  dressing-gown,  and  was 
reading,  or  essaying  to  read — for  he  had  the  rheumatism  in  his 
right  shoulder— a  roll  of  manuscript.  Beside  him  lay  a  ruler, 
which  he  grasped,  and  made  a  movement  of  hospitable  reception 
with,  as  Verty  came  in. 

"  Welcome,  welcome,  my  young  friend,"  said  Roundjacket ; 
"  you  see  me  laid  up,  sir." 

"  You're  not  much  sick,  I  hope,  sir?"  said  Verty,  taking  the 
arm-chair,  which  his  host  indicated. 

"  I  am,  sir — you  are  mistaken." 

"  I  am  very  sorry." 

"  I  thank  you  for  your  sympathy,"  said  Roundjacket,|running 
his  fingers  through  his  straight  hair  ;  "I  think,  sir,  I  mentioned, 
the  other  day,  that  I  expected  to  be  laid  up." 

"Mentioned?" 

"  On  the  occasion,  sir — " 

"  Oh,  the  paper  !"  said  Verty,  smiling  ;  "  you  don't  mean — " 

"  I  mean  everything,"  said  Roundjacket ;  "  I  predicted,  on  that 
occasion,  that  I  expected  to  be  laid  up,  and  [  am,  sir." 

This  was  adroit  in  Roundjacket.  It  was  one  of  those  skillful 
equivocations,  by  means  of  which  a  man  saves  his  character  for 
consistency  and  judgment,  without  forfeiting  his  character  for 
truth. 

"  Well,  it  was  very  bad,"  said  Verty. 


342  AN   EXTRAORDINARY  DISCLOSURE. 

"  Bad  is  not  the  word — abominable  is  the  word — disgraceful 
is  the  word  !"  cried  Roundjacket,  flourishing  his  ruler,  and  sud 
denly  dropping  it  as  a  twinge  shot  through  his  shoulder. 

"  Yes,"  assented  Verty  ;  "but  talking  about  it  will  make  you 
worse,  sir.  Mr.  Rushton  asked  me  to  come  and  see  how  you 
were  this  morning." 

"  Rushton  is  thanked,"  said  Mr.  Roundjacket, — "  Rushton,  my 
young  friend,  has  his  good  points — so  have  I,  sir.  I  nursed  him 
through  a  seven  month's  fever — a  perfect  bear,  sir ;  but  he 
always  is  that.  Tell  him  that  my  arm — that  I  am  nearly  well, 
sir,  and  that  nothing  but  my  incapacity  to  write,  from — from — 
the  state  of  my — feelings,"  proceeded  Roundjacket,  "  should  keep 
me  at  home.  Observe,  my  young  sir,  that  this  is  no  apology. 
Rushton  and  myself  understand  each  other.  If  I  wish  to  go,  I 
go — or  stay  away,  I  stay  away.  But  I  like  the  old  trap,  sir,  from 
habit,  and  rather  like  the  bear  himself,  upon  the  whole." 

With  this  Mr.  Roundjacket  attempted  to  flourish  his  ruler, 
from  habit,  and  groaned. 

"What's  the  matter,  sir?"  said  Verty. 

"I  felt  badly  at  the  moment,"  said  Roundjacket ;  "the  fact  is, 
I  always  do  feel  badly  when  I'm  confined  thus.  I  have  been 
trying  to  wile  away  the  time  with  the  manuscript  of  my  poem, 
sir — but  it  won't  do.  An  author,  sir — mark  me — never  takes 
any  pleasure  in  reading  his  own  writings." 

"Ah?"  said  Verty. 

"  No,  sir ;  the  only  proper  course  for  authors  is  to  marry." 

"  Indeed,  sir  ?" 

"  Yes  :  and  why,  sir  ?"  asked  Mr.  Roundjacket,  evidently  with 
the  intention  of  answering  his  own  question. 

"  I  don't  know,"  replied  Verty. 

"  Because,  then,  sir,  the  author  may  read  his  work  to  his  wife, 
which  is  a  circumstance  productive  of  great  pleasure  on  both 
sides,  you  perceive." 

"  It  might  be,  but  I  think  it  might' nt,  sir  ?"  Verty  said. 


AN   EXTRAORDINARY  DISCLOSURE.  343 

"  How,  might'nt-be  ?" 

"It  might  be  very  bad  writing — not  interesting — such  as 
ought  to  be  burned,  you  know,"  said  Verty. 

"Hum!"  replied  Roundjacket,  "  there's  something  in  that." 

"  If  I  was  to  write — but  I  could'nt — I  don't  think  I  would 
read  it  to  my  wife — if  I  had  a  wife,"  added  Verty. 

And  he  sighed. 

"  A  wife !  you  !"  cried  Mr.  Roundjacket. 

"  Is  there  anything  wrong  in  my  wishing  to  marry  ?" 

"  Hum  ! — yes,  sir ;  there  is  a  certain  amount  of  irrationality 
in  am/body  desiring  such  a  thing — not  in  you  especially." 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Roundjacket,  you  advised  me  only  a  few  weeks  ago 
to  be  always  courting  somebody — courting  was  the  word  ;  I  recol 
lect  it." 

"Hum  !"  repeated  Roundjacket;  "  did  If 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Well,  sir,  I  suppose  a  man  has  a  right  to  amend." 

"  Anan,  sir  ?" 

"  I  say  that  a  man  has  a  right  to  file  an  amended  and  sup 
plemental  . bill,  stating  new  facts;  but  you  don't  understand. 
Perhaps,  sir,  I. was  right,  and  perhaps  I  was  wrong  in  that  ad 
vice." 

"  But,  Mr.  Roundjacket,"  said  Verty,  sighing,  "  do  you  think 
I  ought  not  to  marry  because  I  am  an  Indian  *?" 

This  question  of  ethics  evidently  puzzled  the  poet. 

"  An  Indian — hum — an  Indian  ?"  he  said  ;  "  but  are  you  an 
Indian,  my  young  friend1?" 

"  You  know  ma  mere  is,  and  I  am  her  son." 

Roundjacket  shook  his  head. 

"  You  are  a  Saxon,  not  an  Aboriginal,"  he  said  ;  "  and  to  tell 
you  the  truth,  your  origin  has  been  the  great  puzzle  of  my  life, 
sir." 

"Has  it?" 

"  It  has,  indeed." 


344  AN  EXTRAORDINARY  DISCLOSURE. 

Verty  looked  thoughtful,  and  his  dreamy  gaze  was  fixed  upon 
vacancy. 

"  It  has  troubled  me  a  good  deal  lately,"  he  said,  "  and  I  have 
been  thinking  about  it  very  often — si  ace  I  came  to  live  in  Win 
chester,  you  know.  As  long  as  I  was  in  the  woods,  it  did  not 
come  into  my  thoughts  much  ;  the  deer,  and  turkeys,  and  bears 
never  asked,"  added  Verty,  with  a  smile.  "The  travellers  who 
stopped  for  a  draught  of  water  or  a  slice  of  venison  at  ma  mere's, 
never  seemed  to  think  anything  about  it,  or  to  like  me  the  worse 
for  not  knowing  where  I  came  from.  It's  only  since  I  came  into 
society  here,  sir,  that  I  am  troubled.  It  troubles  me  very  much," 
added  Verty,  his  head  drooping. 

"  Zounds !"  cried  Roundjacket,  betrayed  by  his  feelings  into 
an  oath,  "  don't  let  it,  Verty !  You're  a  fine,  honest  fellow, 
whether  you're  an  Indian  or  not ;  and  if  I  had  a  daughter — 
which,"  added  Mr.  Rouudjacket,  "  I'm  glad  to  say  I  have  not — 
you  should  have  her  for  the  asking.  Who  cares !  you're  a 
gentleman,  every  inch  of  you !" 

"  Am  I  ?"  said  Verty  ;  "  I'm  glad  to  hear  that.  I  thought  I 
was'nt.  And  so,  sir,  you  don't  think  there's  any  objection  to  my 
marrying?" 

"  Hum  ! — the  subject  of  marrying  again  !" 

"Yes,  sir,"  Verty  replied,  smiling;  "I  thought  I'd  marry 
Redbud." 

"  Who?  that  little  Redbud  !" 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Verty,  "  I  think  I'm  in  love  with  her." 

Roundjacket  stood  amazed  at  such  extraordinary  simplicity. 

"  Sir,"  he  said,  "  whether  you  are  an  Indian  by  blood  or  not, 
you  certainly  are  by  nature.  Extraordinary  !  who  ever  heard  of 
a  civilized  individual  using  such  language  !" 

"  But  you  know  I  am  not  civilized,  sir." 

Roundjacket  shook  his  head. 

"  There's  the  objection,"  he  said  ;  "  it  is  absolutely  necessary 
that  a  man  who  becomes  the  husband  of  a  young  lady  should  be 


AN  EXTRAORDINARY  DISCLOSURE.  345 

civilized.  But  let  us  dismiss  this  subject — Redbud !  Excuse  me, 
Mr.  Verty,  but  you  are  a  very  extraordinary  young  man ; — to 
have  you  for — well,  well.  Don't  allude  to  that  again." 

"To  what,  sir?" 

"  To  Kedbud." 

"  Why,  sir  ?" 

"  Because  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  it.  I  can  only  give  you 
my  general  ideas  on  the  subject  of  marriage.  If  you  apply  them, 
that  is  your  affair.  A  pretty  thing  on  an  oath  of  discovery," 
murmured  the  poetical  lawyer. 

Verty  had  not  heard  the  last  words ;  he  was  reflecting. 
Roundjacket  watched  him  with  a  strange,  wistful  look,  which  had 
much  kindness  and  feeling  in  it. 

"  But  why  not  marry  ?"  said  Verty,  at  last;  "it  seems  to  me 
sir,  that  people  ought  to  marry;  I  think  I  could  find  a  great 
many  good  reasons  for  it." 

"  Could  you  ;  how  many  ?" 

"  A  hundred,  I  suppose." 

"  And  I  could  find  a  thousand  against  it,"  said  Roundjacket. 
"  Mark  me,  sir — except  under  certain  circumstances,  a  man  is 
not  the  same  individual  after  marrying — he  deteriorates." 

"  Anan  ?"  said  Verty. 

"  I  mean,  that  in  most  cases  it  is  for  the  worse — the  change 
of  condition. 

"How,  sir?" 

"  Observe  the  married  man,"  replied  Roundjacket,  philosoph 
ically — "  see  his  brow  laden  with  cares,  his  important  look,  his 
solemn  deportment.  None  of  the  lightness  and  carelessness  of 
the  bachelor." 

Verty  nodded,  as  much  as  to  say  that  there  was  a  great  deal 
of  truth  in  this  much. 

"Then  observe  the  glance,"  continued  Roundjacket,  "if  I 
may  be  permitted  to  use  a  colloquialism  which  is  coming  into 

15 


346  AN  EXTRAORDINARY  DISCLOSURE. 

use — there  is  not  that  brilliant  cut  of  the  eye,  which  you  see  in 
us  young  fellows — it  is  all  gone,  sir!" 

Verty  smiled. 

"  The  married  man  frequently  delegates  his  soul  to  his  better 
half,"  continued  Roundjacket,  rising  with  his  subject ;  "  all  his 
independence  is  gone.  He  can't  live  the  life  of  a  jolly  bachelor, 
with  pipe  and  slippers,  jovial  friends  and  nocturnal  suppers.  The 
pipe  is  put  out,  sir — the  slippers  run  down — and  the  joyous 
laughter  of  his  good  companions  becomes  only  the  recollection  of 
dead  merriment.  He  progresses,  sir — does  the  married  man — 
from  bad  to  worse ;  he  lives  in  a  state  of  hen-pecked,  snubbed, 
unnatural  apprehension  ;  he  shrinks  from  his  shadow  ;  trembles 
:it  every  sound  ;  and,  in  the  majority  of  cases,  ends  his  miserable 
existence,  sir,  by  hanging  himself  to  the  bed-post !" 

Having  drawn  this  awful  picture  of  the  perils  of  matrimony, 
Mr.  Roundjacket  paused  and  smiled.  Verty  looked  puzzled. 

"You  seem  to  think  it  is  very  dreadful,"  said  Verty;  "are 
you  afraid  of  women,  sir  1" 

"  No,- 1  am  not,  sir !     But  I  might  very  rationally  be." 

"Anan?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  very  reasonably  ;  the  fact  is,  you  cannot  be  a  lady's 
man,  and  have  any  friends,  without  being  talked  about." 

Verty  nodded,  with  a  simple  look,  which  struck  Mr.  Round- 
j;icket  forcibly. 

"  Only  utter  a  polite  speech,  and  smile,  and  wrap  a  lady's 
:-  :iawl  around  her  shoulders — flirt  her  fan,  or  caress  her  poodle — 
und,  in  public  estimation,  you  are  gone,"  observed  the  poet ; 
''the  community  roll  their  eyes,  shake  their  heads,  and  declare 
( hat  it  is  very  obvious — that  you  are  so  far  gone,  as  not  even  to 
t-retend  to  conceal  it.  Shocking,  sir  !" 

And  Roundjacket  chuckled. 

"  It's  very  wrong,"  said  Verty,  shaking  his  head ;  "  I  wonder 
they  do  it." 

"  Therefore,  keep  away  from  the  ladies,  my  young  friend," 


AN  EXTRAORDINARY  DISCLOSURE.  347 

added  Roundjacket,  with  an  elderly  air — "  that  is  the  safest  way. 
Get  some  snug  bachelor  retreat  like  this,  and  be  happy  with  your 
pipe.  Imitate  me,  in  dressing-gown  and  slippers.  So  shall  you 
be  happy !" 

Roundjacket  chuckled  again,  and  contemplated  the  cornice. 

At  the  same  moment  a  carriage  was  heard  to  stop  before  the 
door,  and  the  poet's  eyes  descended. 

"  I  wonder  who  comes  to  see  me,"  he  said,  "  really  now,  in  a 
chariot." 

Verty,  from  his  position,  could  see  through  the  window. 

"  Why,  it's  the  Apple  Orchard  chariot !"  he  said,  "  and  there 
is  Miss  Lavinia !" 

At  this  announcement,  Mr.  Roundjacket' s  face  assumed  an 
expression  of  dastardly  guilt,  and  he  avoided  Verty' s  eye. 

"  Lavinia  !"  he  murmured. 

At  the  same  moment  a  diminutive  footman  gave  a  rousing 
stroke  with  the  knocker,  and  delivered  into  the  hands  of  the  old 
woman,  who  opened  the  door,  a  glass  dish  of  delicacies  such  as 
are  affected  by  sick  persons. 

With  this  came  a  message  from  the  lady  in  the  carriage,  to  the 
effect,  that  her  respects  were  presented  to  Mr.  Roundjacket,  whose 
sickness  she  had  heard  of.  Would  he  like  the  jelly? — she  was 
passing — would  be  every  day.  Please  to  send  word  if  he  was 
better. 

While  this  message  was  being  delivered,  Roundjacket  resem 
bled  an  individual  caught  in  the  act  of  felonious  appropriation 
of  his  neighbors'  ewes.  He  did  not  look  at  Verty,  but,  with  a 
bad  assumption  of  nonchalance,  bade  the  boy  thank  his  mistress, 
and  say  that  Mr.  Roundjacket  would  present  his  respects,  in  per 
son,  at  Apple  Orchard,  on  the  morrow.  Would  she  excuse  his 
not  corning  out  ? 

This  message  was  carried  to  the  chariot,  which  soon  afterwards 
drove  away. 

Verty  gazed  after  it. 


348  AN  EXTRAORDINARY    DISCLOSURE. 

"I  say,  Mr.  Roundjacket,"  he  observed,  at  length,  "how 
funny  it  is  for  Miss  Lavinia  to  come  to  see  you  !" 

"  Hum  ! — hum ! — we  are — hum — ah — !  The  fact  is,  my  dear 
Verty !"  cried  Mr.  Roundjacket,  rising,  and  limping  through  a 
pas  seul,  in  spite  of  his  rheumatism — "  the  fact  is,  I  have  been 
acting  the  most  miserable  and  deceptive  way  to  you  for  the  last 
hour.  Yes,  my  dear  boy !  I  am  ashamed  of  myself !  Carried 
away  by  the  pride  of  opinion,  and  that  fondness  which  bachelor's 
have  for  boasting,  I  have  been  deceiving  you !  But  it  never 
shall  be  said  that  Robert  Roundjacket  refused  the  amplest  repa 
ration.  My  reparation,  my  good  Verty,  is  taking  you  into  my 
confidence.  The  fact  is — yes,  the  fact  really  is — as  aforesaid,  or 
rather  as  not  aforesaid,  myself  and  the  pleasing  Miss  Lavinia  are 
to  be  married  before  very  long !  Don't  reply,  sir  !  I  know  my 
guilt — but  you  might  have  known  I  was  jesting.  You  must  have 
suspected,  from  my  frequent  visits  to  Apple  Orchard — hum — 
hum — well,  well,  sir  ;  it's  out  now,  and  I've  made  a  clean  breast 
of  it,  and  you're  not  to  speak  of  it !  I  am  tired  of  bachelordom, 
sir,  and  am  going  to  change  !" 

With  these  words,  Mr.  Roundjacket  executed  a  pirouette  upon 
his  rheumatic  leg,  which  caused  him  to  fall  back  in  his  chair, 
making  the  most  extraordinary  faces,  which  we  can  compare  to 
nothing  but  the  contortions  of  a  child  who  bites  a  crab-apple  by 
mistake. 

The  twinge  soon  spent  its  force,  however;  and  then  Mr. 
Roundjacket  and  Verty  resumed  their  colloquy — after  which, 
Verty  rose  and  took  his  leave,  smiling  and  laughing  to  himself, 
at  times. 

He  had  reason.  Miss  Lavinia,  who  had  denounced  wife-hun 
ters,  was  about  to  espouse  Mr.  Roundjacket,  who  had  declared 
matrimony  the  most  miserable  of  mortal  conditions ;  all  which 
is  calculated  to  raise  our  opinion  of  the  consistency  of  human 
nature  in  a  most  wonderful  degree. 


CHAPTER  LVIII. 

HOW  MR.  RUSHTON  PROVED  THAT  ALL  MEN  WERE  SELFISH, 
HIMSELF  INCLUDED. 

LEAVING  Mr.  Roundjacket  contemplating  the  ceiling,  and  re 
flecting  upon  the  various  questions  connected  with  bachelorship 
and  matrimony,  Verty  returned  to  the  office,  and  reported  to  Mr. 
Rushton  that  the  poet  was  rapidly  improving,  and  would  prob 
ably  be  at  his  post  on  the  morrow. 

This  intelligence  was  received  with  a  growl,  which  had  become, 
however,  so  familiar  an  expression  of  feeling  to  the  young  man, 
that  he  did  not  regard  it. 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Rushton.  "  what  news  is  there  about 
town  ?" 

"  News,  sir  ?     I  heard  none." 

"  Did'nt  you  pass  along  the  streets  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  And  you  met  nobody  *" 

"  Oh,  yes ;  I  met  Ralph,  and  Mr.  Jinks,  and  others." 

"  Jinks  !  I'll  score  that  Jinks  yet !"  said  Mr.  Rushton  ;  "  he  is 
an  impertinent  jackanapes,  and  deserves  to  be  put  in  the  stocks." 

"I  don't  like  him  much,"  said  Verty,  smiling,  "  I  think  he  is 
very  foolish." 

"  Hum !  I  have  no  doubt  of  it  :  he  had  the  audacity  to  come 
here  once  and  ask  an  opinion  of  me  without  offering  the  least 
fee." 

"An  opinion,  sir  1" 


350  MR.  RUSHTON 's  SELFISHNESS. 

11  Yes,  sir ;  have  you  been  thus  long  in  the  profession,  or  in 
contact  with  the  profession,"  added  Mr.  Rushton,  correcting 
himself,  "  without  learning  what  an  opinion  is  ?" 

"Oh,  sir — I  think  I  understand  now — it  is — " 

"  A  very  gratifying  circumstance  that  you  do,"  said  Mr.  Rush- 
ton,  with  the  air  of  a  good-natured  grizzly  bear.  "  Well,  sir,  that 
fellow,  I  say,  had  the  audacity  to  consult  me  upon  a  legal  point 
— whether  the  tailor  O'Brallaghan,  being  bound  over  to  keep 
the  peace,  could  attack  him  without  forfeiting  his  recognizances 
— that  villain  Jinks,  I  say,  had  the  outrageous  audacity  to  ask 
my  opinion  on  this  point,  and  then  when  I  gave  it,  to  rise  and 
say  that  it  was  a  fine  morning,  and  so  strut  out,  without  another 
word.  A  villain,  sir !  the  man  who  consults  a  lawyer  without 
the  preparatory  retainer,  is  a  wretch  too  deep-dyed  to  reform !" 

Having  thus  disposed  of  Jinks,  Mr.  Rushton  snorted. 

"  I  don't  like  him,"  Verty  said,  "  he  does  not  seem  to  be  sin 
cere,  and  I  think  he  is  not  a  gentleman.  But,  I  forget,  sir  ;  you 
asked  me  if  there  was  any  news.  I  did  hear  some  people  talking 
at  the  corners  of  the  street  as  1  passed. 

"  About  what  ?" 

"  The  turn  out  of  the  Dutch  and  Irish  people  the  day  after  to 
morrow,  sir." 

"  Hum !"  growled  Mr.  Rushton,  "  we'll  see  about  that !  The 
authorities  of  Winchester  are  performing  their  duty  after  a  pretty 
fashion,  truly — to  permit  these  villainous  plots  to  be  hatched 
under  their  very  noses.  What  did  you  hear,  sir  ?" 

"  They  were  whispering  almost,  sir,  and  if  I  had'nt  been  a 
hunter  I  could'nt  have  heard.  They  were  saying  that  there 
would  be  knives  as  well  as  shillalies,"  said  Verty. 

"  Hum  !  indeed !  This  must  be  looked  to  !  Will  we  !  The 
wretches.  We  are  in  a  fine  way  when  the  public  peace  is  to  be 
sacrificed  to  the  whim  of  some  outlandish  wretches." 

"  Anan?"  said  Verty. 

"  Sir?"  asked  Mr.  Rushton. 


MR.  RUSHTON'S  SELFISHNESS.  351 

"  I  do  not  know  exactly  what  outlandish  means,"  Verty  re 
plied,  with  a  smile. 

A  grim  smile  came  to  the  lips  of  the  lawyer  also. 

"It  means  a  variety  of  things,"  he  said,  looking  at  Verty; 
"  some  people  would  say  that  you,  sir,  were  outlandish." 

"Me!"  said  Verty. 

"  Yes,  you ;  where  are  those  costumes  which  I  presented  to 
you  ?" 

"  My  clothes,  sir— from  the  tailor's?" 

"  Tes,  sir." 

Verty  shook  his  head. 

"  I  did' nt  feel  easy  in  them,  sir,"  he  said;  "you  know  I  am  an 
Indian — or  if  I  am  not,  at  least  I  am  a  hunter.  They  cramped 
me." 

Mr.  Ilushton  looked  at  the  young  man  for  some  moments  in 
silence. 

"You  are  a  myth,"  he  said,  grimly  smiling,  "a  dream — a 
chimera.  You  came  from  no  source,  and  are  going  nowhere. 
But  I  trifle.  If  I  am  permitted,  sir,  I  shall  institute  proper  in 
quiries  as  to  your  origin,  which  has  occasioned  so  much  thought. 
The  press  of  business  I  have  labored  under  during  the  last  month 
has  not  permitted  me.  Wretched  life.  I'm  sick  of  it — and  go  to 
it  like  a  horse  to  the  traces." 

"  Don't  you  like  law,  sir  ?"  •  *  '" 

"No— I  hate  it." 

"Why,  sir?" 

"'Why!""  cried  Mr.  Rushton,  "there  you  are  with  your 
annoying  questions !  I  hate  it  because  it  lowers  still  more  my 
opinion  of  this  miserable  humanity.  I  see  everywhere  rascality, 
and  fraud,  and  lies  ;  and  because  there  is  danger  of  becoming  the 
color  of  the  stuff  I  work  in,  *  like  the  dyer's  hand.'  "  I  hate  it," 
growled  Mr.  Rushton. 

"  But  you  must  see  many  noble  things,  sir,  too, — a  great  deal  of 
goodness,  you  know." 


352  MR.  RUSHTON 's  SELFISHNESS. 

"  Well,  sir,  so  I  do.  I  don't  deny  it.  There  are  some  men 
who  are  not  entirely  corrupt, — some  who  do  not  cheat  systemati 
cally,  and  lie  by  the  compass  and  the  rule.  But  these  are  the 
exceptions.  This  life  and  humanity  are  foul  sin  from  the  begin 
ning.  Trust  no  one,  young  man — not  even  me ;  1  may  turn  out 
a  rogue.  I  am  no  better  than  the  rest  of  the  wretches  !" 

"Oh,  Mr.  Rushton!" 

"  There  you  are  with  your  exclamations!" 

"Oh,  I'm  sure,  sir — " 

"  Be  sure  of  nothing  ;  let  us  end  this  jabber.  How  is  your 
mother?"  said  Mr.  Rushton,  abruptly. 

"She's  very  well,  sir." 

"  A  good  woman." 

"  Oh,  indeed  she  is,  sir — I  love  her  dearly." 

"Hum!  there's  no  harm  in  that,  though  much  selfishness,  I 
do  not  doubt — all  humanity  is  narrow  and  selfish.  There  are 
some  things  I  procured  for  her." 

And  Mr.  Kushton  pointed  to  a  large  bundle  lying  on  the 
chair. 

"  For  ma  mere  /"  said  Verty. 

"  Yes ;  I  suppose  that,  in  your  outlandish  lingo,  means  mother. 
Yes,  for  her ;  the  winter  is  coming  on,  and  she  will  need  some 
thing  warm  to  wrap  her — poor  creature — from  the  cold." 

"  Oh,  how  kind  you  are,  Mr.  Rushton  !" 

"  Nonsense ;  I  suppose  I  am  at  liberty  to  spend  my  own 
money." 

Verty  looked  at  the  lawyer  with  a  grateful  smile,  and  said  : 

"  I  don't  think  that  what  you  said  about  everybody's  being 
selfish  and  bad  is  true,  sir.  You  are  very  good  and  kind." 

"  Flummery!"  observed  the  cynic,  "  1  had  a  selfish  motive  :  I 
wished  to  appear  generous — I  wished  to  be  praised — I  wished  to 
attach  you  to  my  service,  in  order  to  employ  you,  when  the  time 
came,  in  some  rascally  scheme." 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Rushton  !" 


MR.  RUSHTON'S  SELFISHNESS.  353 

"  Yes,  sir ;  you  know  not  why  I  present  that  winter  ward 
robe  to  your  mother,"  said  the  lawyer,  triumphantly  ;  "  you  don't 
even  know  that  it  is  my  present!" 

"How,  sir?" 

"May  I  not  stop  it  from  your  salary,  I  should  like  to  know, 
sir "?" 

And  Mr.  Rushton  scowled  at  Verty. 

"  Oh  !"  said  the  young  man. 

"  I  may  do  anything — I  may  have  laid  a  plot  to  have  you 
arrested  for  receiving  stolen  goods,"  said  the  shaggy  cynic, 
revelling  in  the  creations  of  his  invention  ;  "  I  may  have  wrapped 
up  an  infernal  machine,  sir,  in  that  bundle,  which,  when  you 
open  it,  will  explode  like  a  cannon,  and  carry  ruin  and  destruc 
tion  to  everything  around  !" 

This  terrific  picture  caused  Yerty  to  open  his  eyes,  and  look 
with  astonishment  at  his  interlocutor. 

"  I  may  have  bought  them  in  to  spite  that  young  villain  at  the 
store.  I  heard  him,"  said  Mr.  Rushton,  vindictively — "yes,  dis 
tinctly  heard  him  whisper,  l  There's  old  Rushton  again,  come  to 
growl,  and  not  buy  anything.'  The  villain !  but  I  disappointed 
him ;  and  when  he  said,  '  Shall  they  be  sent  to  your  office, 
sir  T  in  his  odious  obsequious  voice,  I  replied,  l  No,  sir !  I  am 
not  a  dandy  or  fine  gentleman,  nor  a  woman  ; — you,  sir,  may  be 
accustomed  to  have  your  bundles  sent — I  carry  mine  myself.' 
And  so,  sir,  I  took  the  bundle  on  my  shoulder  and  brought  it 
away,  to  the  astonishment  of  that  young  villain,  who,  I  predict, 
will  eventually  come  to  the  gallows !" 

And  the  lawyer,  having  grown  tired  of  talking,  abruptly  went 
into  his  sanctum,  and  slammed  the  door. 

Verty  gazed  after  him  for  some  moments  with  a  puzzled  ex 
pression — then  smiled — then  shook  his  head ;  then  glanced  at 
the  bundle.  It  was  heavy  enough  for  two  porters,  and  Verty 
opened  his  eyes  at  the  thought  of  Mr.  Rushton's  having  appeared 

15* 


354:  ME.  KUSHTON'S  SELFISHNESS. 

in  public,  in  the  town  of  Winchester,  with  such  a  mass  upon  his 
back. 

"  He's  very  good,  though,"  said  Verty  ;  "  I  don't  know  why 
he's  so  kind  to  me.  How  ma  mere  will  like  them — I  know  they 
are  what  she  wants." 

And  Verty  betook  himself  to  his  work,  only  stopping  to  par 
take  of  his  dinner  of  cold  venison  and  biscuits.  By  the  after 
noon,  he  had  done  a  very  good  task  ;  and  then  mounting  Cloud, 
with  the  bundle  before  him,  he  took  his  way  homeward,  via 
Apple  Orchard. 


CHAPTER  LIX. 

THE    PORTRAIT    SMILES. 

OUR  fine  Virginia  autumn  not  only  dowers  the  world  with 
beautiful  forests,  and  fresh  breezes,  and  a  thousand  lovely  aspects 
of  the  beautiful  world — fine  golden  sunsets,  musical  dawns,  and 
gorgeous  noontides  full  of  languid  glory ; — it  also  has  its  direct 
influence  on  the  mind. 

Would  you  dream  1  Go  to  the  autumn  woods  ;  the  life  there 
is  one  golden  round  of  fancies,  such  as  come  alone  beneath 
waning  forests,  where  the  glories  of  the  flower-crowned  summer 
have  yielded  to  a  spell  more  powerful,  objects  more  enthralling — 
because  those  objects  have  the  charm  of  a  maiden  slowly  passing, 
with  a  loveliness  a  thousand  times  increased,  and  sublimated,  to 
the  holy  skies. 

Would  you  have  active  life  ?  That  is  there  too — the  deer,  and 
sound  of  bugles  rattling  through  the  trees,  and  rousing  echoes 
which  go  flashing  through  the  hills,  and  filling  the  whole  universe 
with  jubilant  laughter.  Every  mood  has  something  offered  for 
its  entertainment  in  the  grand  autumns  of  our  Blue-Hidge  dom 
inated  land :  chiefly  the  thoughtful,  however,  the  serene  and 
happy* 

You  dream  there,  under  the  boughs  all  gold,  and  blue,  and 
crimson.  Little  things  which  obscured  the  eternal  landscape, 
pass  away,  and  the  great  stars,  above  the  world,  come  out  and 
flood  the  mind  with  a  far  other  light  than  that  which  flowed 
from  earthly  tapers  and  rushlights.  The  heart  is  purer  for  such 


356  THE   PORTRAIT  SMILES. 

hours  of  thought ;  and  as  the  splendid  autumn  marches  on  with 
pensive  smiles,  you  see  a  glory  in  his  waning  cheek  which  neither 
the  tender  Spring,  nor  the  rich,  glittering  Summer  ever  approach 
ed — an  expression  of  hope  and  resignation  which  is  greater  than 
strength  and  victory.  Ah,  me !  if  we  could  always  look,  like 
autumn,  on  the  coming  storms  and  freezing  snows,  and  see  the 
light  and  warmth  beyond  the  veil ! 

Verty  went  on  beneath  the  autumn  skies,  and  through  the 
woods,  the  rustle  of  whose  leaves  was  music  to  his  forest-trained 
ear ;  and  so  arrived  at  Apple  Orchard  as  the  sun  was  setting 
brightly  behind  the  pines,  which  he  kindled  gloriously. 

Redbud  was  seated  at  the  window;  and  the  kind  eyes  and  lips 
brightened,  as  the  form  of  the  young  man  became  visible. 

Verty  dismounted  and  entered. 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you  !"  said  Redbud,  smiling,  and  hold 
ing  out  her  small  hand  ;  "  what  a  sweet  evening  for  your  ride 
home." 

Redbud  was  clad  with  her  usual  grace  and  simplicity.  Her 
beautiful  golden  hair  was  brushed  back  from  the  pure,  white 
forehead ;  her  throat  was  enveloped  in  a  circlet  of  diaphanous 
lace,  and  beneath  this,  as  she  breathed,  the  red  beads  of  the  coral 
necklace  were  visible,  rising  and  falling  with  the  pulsations  of  her 
heart.  Redbud  could  not  have  very  readily  explained  the  rea 
son  for  her  fancy  in  wearing  the  necklace  constantly.  It  was 
one  of  those  caprices  which  every  one  experiences  at  times ; — and 
so,  although  the  girl  had  quite  a  magazine  of  such  ornaments,  she 
persisted  in  wearing  the  old  necklace  bought  from  the  pedlar. 
Perhaps  the  word  Providence  may  explain  the  matter. 

To  the  girl's  observation,  that  he  had  a  fine  evening  for  his 
ride  homeward,  Verty  replied — Yes,  that  he  had  ;  that  he  could 
not  go  by,  however,  without  coming  to  see  her. 

And  as  h.e  uttered  these  words,  the  simple  and  tender  glances 
of  the  two  young  persons  encountered  each  other ;  and  they 
both  smiled. 


THE   PORTEAIT  SMILES.  357 

"  You  know  you  are  not  very  well,"  added  Verty ;  "  and  I 
could'nt  sleep  well  if  I  did  not  know  how  you  were,  Redbud." 

The  girl  thanked  him  with  another  smile,  and  said : 

"  I  believe  I  am  nearly  well  now  ;  the  cold  I  caught  the  other 
day  has  entirely  left  me.  I  almost  think  I  might  take  a  stroll, 
if  the  sun  was  not  so  low." 

"It  is  half  an  hour  high — that  is,  it  will  not  get  cool  until 
then,"  Verty  said. 

"  Do  you  think  I  would  catch  cold  ?"  asked  the  girl,  smiling. 

"  I  don't  know,"  Verty  said. 

"  Well,  I  do  not  think  I  will,  and  you  shall  wrap  me  in  your 
coat,  if  I  do,"  she  said,  laughing. 

In  ten  minutes,  Redbud  and  Verty  were  strolling  through  the 
grove,  and  admiring  the  sunset. 

"  How  pretty  it  is,"  she  said,  gazing  with  pensive  pleasure  on 
the  clouds  ;  "  and  the  old  grove  here  is  so  still." 

"  Yes,"  Verty  said,  "  I  like  the  old  grove  very  much.  Do  you 
see  that  locust  ?  It  was  just  at  the  foot  of  it,  that  we  found  the 
hare's  form,  when  Dick  mowed  the  grass.  You  recollect  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,"  Redbud  replied ;  "  and  I  remember  what  dear 
little  creatures  they  were — not  bigger  than  an  apple,  and  with 
such  frightened  eyes.  We  put  them  back,  you  know,  Verty — 
that  is,  I  made  you,"  she  added,  laughing. 

Verty  laughed  too. 

"  They  were  funny  little  creatures,"  he  said ;  "  and  they  would 
have  died — you  know  we  never  could  have  got  the  right  things 
for  them  to  eat — yes !  there,  in  the  long  grass !  How  Molly 
Cotton  jumped  away." 

They  walked  on. 

"  Here,  by  the  filbert  bush,  we  used  to  bury  the  apples  to  get 
mellow,"  Verty  said ;  "  nice,  yellow,  soft  things  they  were,  when 
we  dug  them  up,  with  a  smell  of  the  earth  about  'em  I  They 
were  not  like  the  June  apples  we  used  to  get  in  the  garden, 
where  they  dropped  among  the  corn — their  striped,  red  sides  all 
covered  with  dust !" 


358  THE  PORTRAIT  SMILES. 

"  I  liked  the  June  apples  the  best,"  Redbud  said,  "but  I 
think  October  is  finer  than  June." 

"  Oh,  yes.  Redbud,  I  am  going  to  get  some  filberts — will  you 
have  some  V 

"  If  you  please." 

"  So  Verty  went  to  the  bushes,  and  brought  his  hat  full  of 
them,  and  cracked  them  on  a  stone — the  sun  lighting  up  his 
long,  tangled  curls,  and  making  brighter  his  bright  smile. 

Redbud  stooped  down,  and  gathered  the  kernels  as  they  jumped 
from  the  shell,  laughing  and  happy. 

They  had  returned  to  their  childhood  again — bright  and  tender 
childhood,  which1  dowers  our  after  life  with  so  many  tender, 
mournful,  happy  memorials ; — whose  breezes  fan  our  weary 
brows  so  often  as  we  go  on  over  the  thorny  path,  once  a  path  of 
flowers.  They  were  once  more  children,  and  they  wandered  thus 
through  the  beautiful  forest,  collecting  their  memories,  laughing 
here,  sighing  there — and  giving  an  association  or  a  word  to 
every  feature  of  the  little  landscape. 

"How  many  things  I  remember,"  Verty  said,  thoughtfully, 
and  smiling ;  "  there,  where  Milo,  the  good  dog,  was  buried,  and 
a  shot  fired  over  him — there,  where  we  treed  the  squirrel — and  over 
yonder,  by  the  run,  which  I  used  to  think  flowed  by  from  fairy 
land — I  remember  so  many  things  !" 

"  Yes — I  do  too,"  replied  the  girl,  thoughtfully,  bending  her 
head. 

"  How  singular  it  is  that  an  Indian  boy  like  me  should  have 
been  brought  up  here,"  Verty  said,  buried  in  thought ;  "  I  think 
my  life  is  stranger  than  what  they  call  a  romance." 

Redbud  made  no  reply. 

"  Ma  mere  would  never  tell  me  anything  about  myself,"  the 
young  man  went  on,  wistfully,  "  and  I  can't  know  anything  ex 
cept  from  her.  I  must  be  a  Dacotah  or  a  Delaware." 

Redbud  remained  thoughtful  for  some  moments,  then  raising 
her  head,  said : 


THE  POETRAIT  SMILES.  359 

"  I  do  not  believe  you  are  an  Indian,  Verty.  There  is  some 
mystery  about  you  which  I  think  the  old  Indian  woman  should 
tell.  She  certainly  is  not  your  mother,"  said  Redbud,  with  a 
little  smiling  air  of  dogmatism. 

"  I  don't  know,"  Verty  replied,  "  but  I  wish  I  did  know.  I 
used  to  be  proud  of  being  an  Indian,  but  since  I  have  grown  up, 
and  read  how  wicked  they  were,  I  wish  I  was  not. 

"  You  are  not." 

"  Well,  I  think  so,  too,"  he  replied ;  "  I  am  not  a  bit  like 
ma  mere,  who  has  long,  straight  black  hair,  and  a  face  the  color 
of  that  maple — dear  ma  mere  I — while  I  have  light  hair,  always 
getting  rolled  up.  My  face  is  different,  too — I  mean  the  color — 
I  am  sun-burned,  but  I  remember  when  my  face  was  very 
white." 

And  Verty  smiled. 

"  I  would  ask  her  all  about  it,"  Redbud  said. 

"I  think  I  will,"  was  the  reply;  "  but  she  don't  seem  to  like 
it,  Redbud — it  seems  to  worry  her." 

"But  it  is  important  to  you,  Verty." 

"  Yes,  indeed  it  is." 

"  Ask  her  this  evening." 

"  Do  you  advise  me J?" 

"  Yes.     I  think  you  ought  to  ;  indeed  I  do." 

"  Well,  I  will,"  Verty  said ;  "  and  I  know  when  ma  mere 
understands  that  I  am  not  happy  as  long  as  she  does  not  tell  me 
everything,  she  will  speak  to  me." 

"  I  think  so,  too,"  said  Redbud;  "  and  now,  Verty,  there  is  one 
thing  more — trust  in  God,  you  know,  is  everything.  He  will  do 
all  for  the  best." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  the  young  man  said,  as  they  turned  toward  Apple 
Orchard  house  again,  "  I  am  getting  to  do  that — and  I  pray 
now,  Redbud,"  he  added,  looking  toward  the  sky,  "  I  pray  to  the 
Great  Spirit,  as  we  call  him — " 

Redbud  looked  greatly  delighted,  and  said : 


360  THE  PORTRAIT  SMILES. 

"  That  is  better  than  all ;  I  do  not  see  how  any  one  can  live 
without  praying." 

"I  used  to,"  Verty  replied. 

"  It  was  so  wrong." 

"Yes,  yes." 

"And  Verty  gazed  at  the  sunset  with  his  dreamy,  yet  kindling 
eyes. 

"  If  there  is  a  Great  Spirit,  we  ought  to  talk  to  him,"  he  said, 
"  and  tell  him  what  we  want,  and  ask  him  to  make  us  good  ;  I 
think  so  at  least — " 

"  Indeed  we  should." 

"  Then,"  continued  Verty,  "  if  that  is  true,  we  ought  to  think 
whether  there  is  or  is  not  such  a  spirit.  There  may  be  people  in 
towns  who  don't  believe  there  is — but  I  am  obliged  to.  Look 
at  the  sun,  Redbud — the  beautiful  sun  going  away  like  a  great 
torch  dying  out ; — and  look  at  the  clouds,  as  red  as  if  a  thousand 
deer  had  come  to  their  death,  and  poured  their  blood  out  in  a 
river !  Look  at  the  woods  here,  every  color  of  the  bow  in  the 
cloud,  and  the  streams,  and  rocks,  and  all !  There  must  be  a 
Great  Spirit  who  loves  men,  or  he  never  would  have  made  the 
world  so  beautiful." 

Verty  paused,  and  they  went  on  slowly. 

"  We  love  him  because  he  first  loved  us,"  said  Redbud, 
thoughtfully. 

"Yes,  and  what  a  love  it  must  have  been.  Oh  me!"  said  the 
young  man,  "  I  sometimes  think  of  it  until  my  heart  is  melted  to 
water,  and  my  eyes  begin  to  feel  heavy.  What  love  it  was  ! — 
and  if  we  do  not  love  in  return,  what  punishment  is  great  enough 
for  such  a  crime  !" 

And  Verty 's  face  was  raised  with  a  dreamy,  reverent  look 
toward  the  sky.  Youth,  manhood,  age — if  they  but  thought  of 
it ! — but  youth  is  a  dream — manhood  the  waking — age  the  re 
turn  to  slumber.  Busy,  arranging  the  drapery  of  their  couches, 
whether  of  royal  purple  or  of  beggar's  rags,  they  cannot  find  the 


THE  POETRAIT  SMILES.  361 

time  to  think  of  other  things — even  to  listen  to  the  grim  breakers, 
with  their  awful  voices  roaring  on  the  lee ! 

So,  under  the  autumn  skies,  the  young  man  and  the  maiden  drew 
near  home.  Apple  Orchard  smiled  on  them  as  they  came,  and 
the  bluff  Squire,  seated  upon  the  portico,  and  reading  that  "Vir 
ginia  Gazette"  maligned  by  Roundjacket,  gave  them  welcome 
with  a  hearty,  laughing  greeting. 

The  Squire  declared  that  Redbud's  cheeks  were  beginning  to 
be  tolerably  red  again ;  that  she  had  been  pretending  sickness 
only — and  then,  with  a  vituperative  epithet  addressed  to  Caesar, 
the  old  gentleman  re-commenced  reading. 

Redbud  and  Verty  entered ;  and  then  the  young  man  held  out 
his  hand. 

"  Are  you  going  *?"  said  the  girl. 

u  Yes,"  he  said,  smiling,  "unless  you  will  sing  me  something. 
Oh,  yes  !  let  me  go  away  with  music  in  my  ears.  Sing  *  Duke 
Domum'  for  me,  Redbud." 

The  young  girl  assented,  with  a  smile ;  and  sitting  down  at 
the  harpsichord,  sang  the  line  old  ditty  in  her  soft,  tender  voice, 
which  was  the  very  echo  of  joy  and  kindness.  The  gentle  carol 
floated  on  the  evening  air,  and  seemed  to  make  the  autumn 
twilight  brighter,  everything  more  lovely — and  Verty  listened 
with  a  look  more  dreamy  than  before. 

Then,  as  she  sung,  his  eye  was  turned  to  the  picture  on  the 
wall,  which  looked  down  with  its  loving  eyes  upon  them. 

Redbud  ceased,  and  turned  and  saw  the  object  of  his  regard. 

"Mamma,"  she  said,  in  a  low,  thoughtful  voice, — "I  love  to 
think  of  her." 

And  rising,  she  stood  beside  Verty,  who  was  still  looking  at 
the  portrait. 

"  She  must  have  been  very  good,"  he  murmured ;  "  I  think  her 
face  is  full  of  kindness." 

Redbud  gazed  softly  at  the  portrait,  and,  as  she  mused,  the 
dews  of  love  and  memory  suffused  her  tender  eyes,  and  she 
turned  away. 


362  THE   PORTRAIT  SMILES. 

"  I  love  the  face,"  said  Verty,  softly ;  "  and  I  think  she  must 
have  been  a  kind,  good  mother,  Redbud.  I  thought  just  now 
that  she  was  listening  to  you  as  you  sang." 

And  Verty  gazed  at  the  young  girl,  with  a  tenderness  which 
filled  her  eyes  with  delight. 

"  She  will  bless  you  out  of  Heaven,"  he  continued,  timidly ; 
"  for  you  are  so  beautiful  and  good — so  very  beautiful !" 

And  a  slight  tremor  passed  over  the  young  man's  frame  as  he 
spoke. 

Redbud  did  not  reply ;  a  deep  blush  suffused  her  face,  and  she 
murmured  something.  Then  the  young  head  drooped,  and  the 
face  turned  away. 

The  last  ray  of  sunlight  gleamed  upon  her  hair  and  pure 
white  forehead,  and  then  fled  away — the  day  was  ended. 

Verty  saw  it,  and  held  out  his  hand. 

"  We  have  had  a  happy  evening,  at  least  I  have,"  he  said,  in 
a  low  voice ;  "  the  autumn  is  so  beautiful,  and  you  are  so  kind 
and  good." 

She  did  not  speak;  but  a  faint  wistful  smile  came  to  her  lips 
as  she  placed  her  hand  softly  in  his  own. 

"  Look !  the  picture  is  smiling  on  you  now !"  said  Verty ; 
"  you  are  just  alike — both  so  beautiful !" 

"  Oh  !"  murmured  Redbud,  blushing;  "  like  mamma f 

"  Yes,"  said  Verty,  "  and  I  saw  the  lips  smile  when  I  spoke." 

They  stood  thus  hand  in  hand — the  tender  mother-eyes  upon 
them :  then  he  turned  and  went  away,  looking  back  tenderly  to 
the  last. 

Had  the  dim  canvas  smiled  upon  them,  as  they  stood  there 
hand  in  hand — a  blessing  on  them  from  the  far  other  world  ? 


CHAPTER  LX. 

THE  LODGE  IN  THE  HILLS. 

SITTING  by  the  crackling  twigs  which  drove  away  the  cool 
airs  of  the  autumn  night  with  their  inspiring  warmth,  the  young 
man,  whose  early  fortunes  we  have  thus  far  endeavored  to  nar 
rate,  leaned  his  head  upon  his  hand,  and  mused  and  dreamed. 

Overhead  the  shadows  played  upon  the  rafters ;  around  him, 
the  firelight  lit  up  the  wild  and  uncouth  interior,  with  its  sleeping 
hounds,  and  guns,  and  fishing-rods,  and  chests ;  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  fireplace,  the  old  Indian  woman  was  indulging,  like 
Verty,  in  a  reverie. 

From  time  to  time,  Longears  or  Wolf  would  stir  in  their  sleep, 
and  growl,  engaged  in  dreaming  of  some  forest  adventure  which 
concerned  itself  with  deer  or  other  game ;  or  the  far  cry  of  the 
whip-poor-will  would  echo  through  the  forest ;  or  the  laughter 
of  the  owl  suddenly  come  floating  on,  borne  on  the  chill  autumn 
wind. 

This,  with  the  crackle  of  the  twigs,  was  all  which  disturbed 
the  silence  of  the  solitary  lodge. 

The  silence  lasted  for  half  an  hour,  at  the  end  of  which  time 
Verty  changed  his  position,  and  sighed.  Then  looking  at  the 
old  woman  with  great  affection,  the  young  man  said : 

"  I  was  thinking  who  I  was ;  and  I  wanted  to  ask  you,  ma 
mere — tell  me." 

The  old  woman  looked  startled  at  this  address,  but  concealing 


364  THE  LODGE  IN  THE  HILLS. 

her  emotion  with  the  marvellous  skill  of  her  people,  replied  in 
her  guttural  accent — 

"  My  son  wants  to  know  something  ?" 

"  Yes,  ma  mere,  that  is  it.  I  want  to  know  if  I  really  am 
your  son." 

The  old  woman  turned  her  eyes  from  Verty. 

"  The  fawn  knows  the  deer,  and  the  bear's  cub  knows  his 
fellows,"  continued  Verty,  gazing  into  the  fire ;  "  but  they  laugh 
at  me.  I  don't  know  my  tribe." 

"  Our  tribe  is  the  Delaware,"  said  the  old  Indian  woman  eva 
sively — "  they  came  from  the  great  woods  like  a  river." 

"  Like  a  river  ?  Yes,  they  know  their  source.  But  where 
did  I  spring  from,  ma  mere  f 

"Where  was  my  son  born?" 

"  Yes,  tell  me  everything,"  said  Verty  ;  "  tell  me  if  I  am  your 
son.  Do  not  tell  me  that  you  love  me  as  a  son,  or  that  I  love 
you  as  my  mother.  I  know  that — but  am  I  a  Delaware  ?" 

"  Why  does  my  son  ask  f 

"  Because  a  bird  of  the  air  whispered  to  me — '  You  are  not  a 
Delaware,  nor  a  Tuscarora,  nor  a  Dacotah ;  you  are  a  pale  face.' 
Did  the  bird  lie  T 

The  old  woman  did  not  answer. 

"  Ma  mere"  said  Verty,  tenderly  taking  the  old  woman's  hand 
and  sitting  at  her  feet,  "  the  Great  Spirit  has  made  me  honest 
and  open — I  cannot  conceal  anything.  I  cannot  pry  and  search. 
I  might  find  out  this  from  some  other  person — who  knows  ?  But 
I  will  not  try.  Come  !  speak  with  a  straight  tongue.  Am  I  the 
son  of  a  brave ;  am  I  a  Delaware ;  or  am  I  what  my  face  makes 
me  out — a  Long-knife  1" 

"  Ough !  ough  !  ough  !"  groaned  the  old  woman ;  "  he  wants  to 
go  away  from  the  nest  where  he  was  warmed,  and  nursed,  and 
brought  up.  The  Great  Spirit  has  put  evil  into  his  heart — it  is 
cold." 

"  No,  no,"  said  Verty,  earnestly — "  my  heart  is  red,  not  white ; 


THE  LODGE  IN  THE  HILLS.  865 

every  drop  of  my  life-blood  is  yours,  ma  mere ;  you  have  loved 
me,  cherished  me :  when  my  muscles  were  soft  and  hot  with 
fever,  you  laid  my  head  upon  your  bosom,  and  rocked  me  to 
sleep  as  softly  as  the  topmost  bough  of  the  oak  rocks  the  oriole ; 
you  loved  me  always.  My  heart  shall  run  out  of  my  breast  and 
soak  the  ground,  before  it  turns  white ;  yet,  I  love  you,  and  you 
love  me.  But,  ma  mere,  I  have  grown  well  nigh  to  manhood ; 
the  bird's  song  is  changed,  and  the  dove  has  flown  to  me — the 
dove  yonder  at  Apple  Orchard — " 

"  Oughl"  groaned  the  old  woman,  rocking  to  and  fro;  "she 
is  black  !  She  has  made  you  bad  !" 

"  No,  no  !  she  is  white — she  is  good.  She  told  me  about  the 
Great  Spirit,  and  makes  me  pure." 

"  Ough  !  ough  !" 

"  She  is  as  pure  as  the  bow  in  the  cloud,"  continued  Verty ; 
"  and  I  did  not  mean  that  the  dove  was  the  bird  who  whispered, 
that  I  was  no  Delaware.  No — my  own  heart  says,  '  know — 
find  out.'  " 

"  And  why  should  the  heart  say '  know  f  "  said  the  old  woman, 
still  rocking  about,  and  looking  at  Verty  with  anxious  affection. 
"  Why  should  my  son  seek  to  find  f 

"  Because  the  winds  are  changed  and  sing  new  songs ;  the 
leaves  whisper,  as  I  pass,  with  a  new  voice ;  and  even  the  clouds 
are  not  what  they  were  to  me  when  I  ran  after  the  shadows 
floating  along  the  hills,  and  across  the  hollows.  I  have  changed, 
ma  mere,  and  the  streams  talk  no  more  with  the  same  tongue.  I 
hear  the  flags  and  water-lilies  muttering  as  I  pass,  and  the  world 
opens  on  me  with  a  new,  strange  light.  They  talked  to  me 
once ;  now  they  laugh  at  me  as  I  pass.  Hear  the  trees,  yonder ! 
Don't  you  hear  them  ?  They  are  saying,  '  The  Delaware  pale 
face  !  look  at  him  !  look  at  him !'  " 

And  crouching,  with  dreamy  eyes,  Verty  for  a  moment  listened 
to  the  strange  sob  of  the  pines,  swaying  in  the  chill  winds  of  the 
autumn  night. 


366  THE  LODGE  IN   THE  HILLS. 

"  I  am  not  what  I  was  !"  he  continued ;  the  world  is  open 
now,  and  I  must  be  a  part  of  it.  The  bear  and  deer  speak  to 
me  with  tongues  I  do  not  understand.  Ma  mere  I  ma  mere !  I 
must  know  whether  I  am  a  Delaware  or  pale  face ! — whether 
one  or  the  other,  I  am  still  yours — yours  always !  Speak ! 
speak  with  a  straight  tongue  to  your  child  !" 

"  Ough  !  ough !  ough  !"  groaned  the  old  woman,  looking  at 
him  wistfully,  and  plainly  struggling  with  herself — hesitating  be 
tween  two  courses. 

"  Speak !"  said  Verty,  with  a  glow  in  his  eye,  which  made 
him  resemble  a  young  leopard  of  the  wild — "  speak,  ma  mere  ! — 
I  am  no  longer  a  child !  I  go  into  a  new  land  now,  and  how 
shall  it  be  ?  As  a  red  face,  or  a  long  knife — which  am  1 1 
Speak,  ma  mere — say  if  I  am  a  Delaware,  whose  place  is  the 
woods,  or  a  white,  whose  life  must  take  him  from  the  deer 
forever!" 

The  struggle  was  ended ;  Verty  could  not  have  uttered  words 
more  fatal  to  his  discovering  anything.  He  raised  an  insuper 
able  barrier  to  any  revelations — if,  indeed,  there  existed  any 
mystery — by  his  alternative.  Was  he  a  Delaware,  and  thus 
doomed  to  live  in  the  forest  with  his  old  Indian  mother — or  was 
he  a  white,  in  which  case,  he  would  leave  her  ?  Pride,  cunning, 
above  all,  deep  and  pure  affection,  sealed  the  old  woman's  lips,  if 
she  had  thought  of  opening  them.  She  looked  for  sometime  at 
Verty,  then,  taking  his  head  between  her  hands,  she  said,  with 
eyes  full  of  tears : 

"  You  are  my  own  dear  son — my  young,  beautiful  hawk  of 
the  woods — who  said  you  were  not  a  true  Delaware  !" 

And  the  old  woman  bent  down,  and  with  a  look  of  profound 
affection,  pressed  her  lips  to  Verty's  forehead. 

The  young  man's  face  assumed  an  expression  of  mingled 
gloom  and  doubt,  and  he  sighed.  Then  he  was  an  Indian — a 
Delaware — the  son  of  the  Indian  woman — he  was  not  a  pale 
face.  All  the  talk  about  it  was  thrown  away ;  he  was  born  in 
the  woods — would  live  and  die  in  the  woods  ! 


THE  LODGE  IN  THE  HILLS.  367 

For  a  moment  the  image  of  Redbud  rose  before  him,  and  he 
sighed.  He  knew  not  why,  but  he  wished  that  he  was  not  an 
Indian  —he  wished  that  his  blood  had  been  that  of  the  whites. 

His  sad  face  drooped ;  then  his  eyes  ware  raised,  and  he  saw 
the  old  woman  weeping. 

The  sight  removed  from  Verty's  mind  all  personal  considera 
tions,  and  he  leaned  his  head  upon  her  knee,  and  pressed  her 
hand  to  his  lips. 

"  Did  the  child  make  his  mother  weep,"  he  said  ;  "  did  his 
idle  words  bring  rain  to  her  eyes,  and  make  her  heart  heavy? 
But  he  is  her  child  still,  and  all  the  world  is  nothing  to  him." 

Verty  rose,  and  taking  the  old,  withered  hand,  placed  it  res 
pectfully  on  his  breast. 

"  Never  again,  ma  mere"  he  said,  "  will  the  wind  talk  to  me, 
or  the  birds  whisper.  I  will  not  listen.  Have  I  made  your 
eyes  dark  ?  Let  it  pass  away — I  am  your  son — I  love  you — 
more  than  all  the  whole  wide  world." 

And  Verty  sat  down,  and  gazed  tenderly  at  the  old  woman, 
whose  face  had  assumed  an  expression  of  extraordinary  delight. 

"  Listen,"  said  Verty,  taking  down  his  old  violin,  with  a  smile, 
"  I  will  play  one  of  the  old  tunes,  which  blow  like  a  wind  from 
my  childhood — happy  childhood." 

And  the  young  man  gazed  for  a  moment,  silent  and  motionless, 
into  the  fire.  Then  he  raised  his  old,  battered  instrument,  and 
began  to  play  one  of  the  wild  madrigals  of  the  border. 

The  music  aroused  Longears,  who  sat  up,  so  to  speak,  upon 
his  forepaws,  and  with  his  head  bent  upon  one  side,  gazed  with 
dignified  and  solemn  interest  at  his  master. 

The  young  man  smiled,  and  continued  playing;  and  as  the 
rude  border  music  floated  from  the  instrument,  the  Verty  of  old 
days  came  back,  and  he  was  once  again  the  forest  hunter. 

The  old  woman  gazed  at  him  with  thoughtful  affection,  and 
returned  his  smile.  He  went  on  playing,  and  the  long  hours 


368  THE  LODGE   IN  THE  HILLS. 

of  the  autumn  night  went  by  like  birds  into  the  cloudland  of  the 
past. 

When  the  forest  boy  ceased  playing,  it  was  nearly  midnight, 
and  the  brands  were  flickering  and  dying. 

Waked  by  the  silence,  Longears,  who  had  gone  to  sleep  again, 
rose  up,  and  came  and  licked  his  master's  hand,  and  whined. 
Verty  caressed  his  head,  and  laying  down  his  violin,  looked  at 
the  old  Indian  woman  with  affectionate  smiles,  and  murmured : 

"  We  are  happy  still,  ma  mere!" 


CHAPTER  LXI. 

MISTRESS  O'CALLIGAN'S  WOOERS. 

IT  will  be  remembered  that  Mr.  Jinks  had  summed  up  the 
probable  results  of  his  deep  laid  schemes  that  morning  when  he 
returned  from  Mistress  O' Calligan's,  in  the  strong  and  emphatic 
word-picture,  "  there  will  be  gory  blood,  sir  !" 

Now,  while  these  words,  strictly  construed,  are,  perhaps,  am 
biguous,  from  a  certain  redundancy  in  the  arrangement,  still, 
there  is  little  difficulty  in  determining  what  Mr.  Jinks  meant. 
Death  and  destruction  dwelt  in  his  imagination,  and  held  there  a 
riotous  carnival ;  and  to  such  a  pitch  of  delight  was  our  friend 
elevated  by  the  triumphant  anticipation  of  revenge  upon  O'Bral- 
laghan,  that  he  stalked  about  during  the  remaining  portion  of 
the  day,  talking  to  himself  in  the  heroic  vein,  and  presenting  the 
appearance  of  an  imperial  grasshopper,  arrived  at  the  summit 
of  felicity. 

But  Mr.  Jinks  was  not  idle ;  no  one  knew  better  than  himself 
that  vigilance  was  the  price  paid  for  success ;  and  to  vigilance 
our  conspirator  added  cunning — in  which  noble  trait  he  was  by 
no  means  deficient. 

We  have  seen  how,  on  returning  from  the  heroic  attack  upon 
the  peace-bound  O'Brallaghan,  Mr.  Jinks  threw  out  a  series  of 
observations  which  attracted  the  attention  of  the  landlord  at  the 
tavern  ;  and  we  have  further  seen  these  two  gentlemen  retire 
together  into  the  hostelry,  with  significant  looks  and  muttering^ 
Of  the  exact  nature  of  that  interview  we  cannot  speak,  having 

16 


370 

nowhere  discovered  any  memoranda  to  guide  us,  in  the  authentic 
documents  from  which  this  history  is  compiled. 

But  results  define  causes ;  and  from  after  events  it  is  not  im 
probable  that  Mr.  Jinks  made  an  eloquent  and  stirring  oration, 
addressed  after  the  manner  of  all  great  orators  to  the  prejudices 
of  the  auditor,  and  indicative  of  Mr.  Jinks'  intention  to  over 
whelm,  with  defeat  and  destruction,  the  anti-Germanic  league 
and  pageant,  on  St.  Michael's  day. 

That  day  was  very  near,  as  we  have  seen  ;  but  twenty-four 
hours  remained  for  the  conspirators  to  act  in  ;  and  Mr.  Jinks 
determined  not  to  lose  the  opportunity  to  perfect  and  render 
satisfactory  his  bloody  revenge. 

Many  things  conspired  to  put  him  in  high  spirits,  and  arouse 
that  heroic  confidence  felt  by  all  great  men  in  undertaking  ardu 
ous  affairs.  The  landlord  had  been  so  much  pleased  with  Mr. 
Jinks'  patriotic  ardor  in  the  German  cause,  that  he  generously 
hinted  at  an  entire  obliteration  of  any  little  score  chalked  up 
against  the  name  of  Jinks  for  board  and  lodging  at  the  hostelry  ; 
this  was  one  of  the  circumstances  which  inspirited  Mr.  Jinks. 
Another  was  the  possession  of  a  steed — a  donkey,  it  is  true,  but 
a  donkey  out  of  a  thousand,  nee  plurilas  impii)',  and  not  unworthy 
of  a  knight  in  a  great  and  exciting  contest. 

Thus  it  happened  that  when,  upon  the  following  morning,  Mr. 
Jinks  arose,  assumed  his  garments,  and  descended,  his  face  was 
radiant  with  anticipated  triumph,  his  sword  clattered  against  his 
slender  legs  with  martial  significance,  and  his  brows  were  corru 
gated  into  a  frown,  which  indicated  ruin  to  all  those  opposed  to 
him. 

Mounted  upon  Fodder,  who  was  sleek  and  in.  high  spirits, 
owing  to  a  good  night's  rest  and  a  plentiful  supply  of  his  favo 
rite  provender,  Mr.  Jinks  remained  for  a  moment  irresolute 
before  the  door  of  the  hostelry,  revolving  in  his  mind  various 
and  conflicting  thoughts  of  love  and  war. 

Should  he  go  on  his  handsome  animal,  and  enact  the  little 


MISTRESS  O'CALLIGAN'S  WOOERS.  .  371 

drama,  which  he  had  arranged  in  his  mind,  with  Miss  Sallianna 
at  the  Bower  of  Nature  ?  Should  he,  on  this  morning,  advance 
to  victory  and  revenge  in  that  direction  ?  Or  should  he  go 
and  challenge  his  enemy,  Verty,  and  make  his  name  glorious 
forever  ? 

These  conflicting  ideas  chased  themselves  through  Mr.  Jinks' 
mind,  and  rendered  him  irresolute. 

He  was  interrupted  in  the  midst  of  them  by  a  voice,  laughing 
and  sonorous,  which  cried  from  the  direction  of  the  gateway : 

"Hey,  there!  What  now,  Jinks'?  What  thoughts  occupy 
your  mind,  my  dear  fellow?" 

And  Ralph  came  out  from  the  yard  of  the  tavern,  mounted 
upon  his  handsome  animal,  as  fresh  and  bright-looking  as  him 
self. 

"  I  was  reflecting,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Jinks,  "  I  have  much  to 
occupy  me  to-day." 

"  Ah  ?  Well,  set  about  it — set  about  it !  Don't  you  know 
that  the  great  element  of  success  in  life,  from  killing  a  musquito 
to  winning  an  empress,  is  to  strike  at  once,  and  at  the  right 
moment  ?  Go  on,  Jinks,  my  boy,  and  luck  to  you  !" 

"  Thanks,  sir,"  replied  Mr.  Jinks — "  I  hope  I  shall  have 
luck." 

"  Of  course,  because  you  have  genius !  What  is  luck  ?"  cried 
Ralph,  bending  down  to  smooth  the  glossy  neck  of  his  animal, 
and  laughing  gaily, — "  why,  nothing  but  a  word  !  Luck,  sir,  is 
nothing — genius  everything.  Luck  throws  her  old  shoe  after,  as 
says  the  proverb ;  but  genius  catches  it,  and  conquers.  Come, 
you  are  good  at  everything,  let  us  have  a  race  !" 

"No,  I  thank  you,"  said  Mr.  Jinks,  drawing  back;  "I  have 
business,  sir — important  business,  sir  !" 

"  Have  you  ?"  said  Ralph,  restraining  his  desire  to  lay  the 
lash  of  his  whip  over  Fodder's  back,  and  so  inaugurate  a  new 
Iliad  of  woes  for  Mr.  Jinks.  "  Then  go  on  in  your  course,  my 


372  MISTRESS  O'CALLIGAN'S  WOOERS. 

dear  fellow.     I  am  going  to  see  a  young  lady,  who  really  is  be 
ginning  to  annoy  me." 

And  the  mercurial  young  fellow  passed  from  laughter  to 
smiles,  and  even  to  something  suspiciously  resembling  a  sigh. 

"  Farewell,  my  dear  Jinks,"  he  added,  becoming  gay  again ; 
"  fortune  favors  the  brave,  recollect.  I  wish  I  could  believe  it," 
he  added,  laughing. 

And  touching  his  horse,  Ralph  set  forward  toward  the  Bower 
of  Nature,  and  consequently  toward  Miss  Fanny. 

"  There  goes  a  young  man  who  is  in  love,"  said  Mr.  Jinks, 
with  philosophic  dignity;  "regularly  caught  by  a  pair  of  black 
eyes.  Boy!"  added  Mr.  Jinks,  after  the  manner  of  Coriolanus, 
"  he  don't  know  'em  as  I  do.  He's  looking  out  for  happiness — 
I  for  revenge  !" 

And  Mr.  Jinks  scowled  at  a  stable-boy  until  the  terrified  urchin 
hung  his  head  in  awe,  respect,  and  admiration.  The  great  mili- 
taire  was  not  superior  to  humanity,  and  even  this  triumph  elated 
him.  He  set  forth,  therefore,  on  Fodder,  feeling  like  a  con 
queror. 

If  this  veracious  history  were  a  narrative  of  the  life  and  ad 
ventures  of  Mr.  Jinks  alone,  we  might  follow  the  great  con 
spirator  in  his  various  movements  on  this  eventful  day.  We 
might  show  how  he  perambulated  the  town  of  Winchester  on 
his  noble  steed,  like  a  second  Don  Quixote,  mounted  for  the 
nonce  upon  the  courser  of  Sancho  Panza,  while  Rosinante  re 
covered  from  his  bruises.  Though  the  illustration  might  fail  if 
carried  further,  inasmuch  as  Mr.  Jinks  encountered  no  windmills, 
and  indeed  met  with  no  adventures  worth  relating,  still  we 
might  speak  of  his  prying  inquisition  into  every  movement  of  the 
hostile  Irish — detail  his  smiling  visits,  in  the  character  of  spy, 
to  numerous  domicils,  and  relate  at  length  the  manner  in  which 
he  procured  the  information  which  the  noble  knight  desired.  All 
this  we  might  do  ;  but  is  it  necessary  ?  Not  always  does  the  great 


373 

historic  muse  fill  up  the  flaws  of  story,  leaving  rather  much  to 
the  imagination.  And  in  the  present  instance,  we  might  justly 
be  accused  of  undue  partiality.  We  are  not  sure  that  some  of 
our  kind  readers  might  not  go  further  still,  and  declare  in 
general  terms,  that  none  of  Mr.  Jinks'  adventures  were  worth 
telling — Mr.  Jinks  himself  being  a  personage  wholly  unworthy  of 
attention. 

To  critics  of  this  last  description,  we  would  say  in  depre 
cation  of  their  strictures — Friends,  the  world  is  made  up  of 
a  number  of  odd  personages,  as  the  animal  kingdom  is  of 
singular,  and  not  wholly  pleasant  creatures.  Just  as  the  scara- 
basus  and  the  ugly  insect  are  as  much  a  part  of  animated  nature 
as  the  golden-winged  butterfly,  and  humming-bird,  and  noble 
eagle,  so  are  the  classes,  represented  partly  by  our  friend,  as 
human  as  the  greatest  and  the  best.  As  the  naturalist,  with 
laborious  care,  defines  the  characteristics  of  the  ugly  insect,  buz 
zing,  and  stinging,  and  preying  on  the  weaker,  so  must  the  writer 
give  a  portion  of  his  attention  to  the  microscopic  bully,  braggart, 
and  boasting  coward  of  the  human  species.  In  the  one  case,  it 
is  science — in  the  other,  art. 

But  still  we  shall  not  give  too  much  space  to  Mr.  Jinks, 
and  shall  proceed  to  detail  very  briefly  the  result  of  his  explora 
tions. 

The  great  conspirator  had,  by  the  hour  of  eventide,  procured 
all  the  information  he  wished.  That  information  led  Mr.  Jinks 
to  believe  that,  on  the  following  day,  the  opposing  races  would 
turn  out  in  numbers,  far  exceeding  those  on  any  previous  occa 
sion.  They  would  have  a  grand  pageant :  — St.  Patrick  would 
meet  St.  Michael  in  deadly  conflict,  and  the  result  would  un 
doubtedly  overwhelm  one  of  the  combatants  with  defeat,  elevat 
ing  the  other  to  the  summit  of  joy  and  victory. 

It  was  Mr.  Jinks'  object  to  ensure  the  success  of  the  worthy 
St.  Michael,  and  prostrate  the  great  St.  Patrick  in  the  dust. 
But  this  was  not  all.  Mr.  Jinks  further  desired  to  procure  an 


374  MISTRESS  O'CALLIGAN'S  WOOERS. 

adequate  revenue  upon  his  friend  O'Brnllnglian.  To  overwhelm 
with  defeat  and  dismay  the  party  to  which  his  enemy  belonged, 
was  not  enough — any  common  man  could  invent  so  plain  a 
course  as  that.  It  was  Mr.  Jinks'  boast,  privately,  and  to  him 
self  be  it  understood,  that  he  would  arrange  the  details  of  an 
original  and  refined  revenge — a  revenge  which  should,  in  equal 
degree,  break  down  the  strength  and  spirit  of  his  enemy,  and 
elevate  the  inventor  to  the  niche  of  a  great  creative  genius. 

By  the  hour  of  nine  that  night  all  was  arranged  ;  and,  after 
laboring  for  an  hour  or  more  at  some  mysterious  employment, 
in  the  secresy  of  his  apartment,  Mr.  Jinks  descended,  and  ordered 
Fodder  to  be  saddled. 

Under  his  arm  he  carried  a  bundle  of  some  size ;  and  this 
bundle  was  placed  carefully  before  him  on  the  animal. 

This  done,  Mr.  Jinks  went  forth  cautiously  into  the  night. 

Let  us  follow  him. 

lie  proceeds  carefully  toward  the  western  portion  of  the  town ; 
then  suddenly  turns  a  corner,  and  goes  northward  ;  then  changes 
his  course,  and  takes  his  way  eastward.  This  is  to  throw  ene 
mies  off  the  track. 

Half  an  hour's  ride  brings  him  in  the  neighborhood  of  Mistress 
O'Calligan's. 

What  does  he  hear  1  A  voice  singing ; — the  voice  of  no  less 
a  personage  than  Mr.  O'Brallaghan. 

The  conspirator  retraces  his  steps  for  some  distance — dis 
mounts — ties  Fodder  to  a  tree-trunk ;  and  then,  with  his  bundle 
under  his  arm,  creeps  along  in  the  shadow  toward  the  cabin. 

At  Mrs.  O'Calligan's  door,  sitting  upon  the  railing,  he  perceives 
the  portly  figure  of  Mr.  O'Brallaghan,  who  is  singing  a  song  of 
his  own  composition  ;  not  the  ditty  which  has  come  down  to 
modern  times  connected  with  this  gentleman's  name — but  ano 
ther  and  more  original  madrigal.  The  popular  ditty,  we  have 
every  reason  to  believe,  was  afterwards  written  by  Mr.  Jinks,  in 
derision  and  contempt  of  Mr.  O'Brallaghan. 


MISTRESS  O'CALLIG-AN'S  WOOERS.  375 

Mr.  Jinks  creeps  up  ;  diabolical  and  gloomy  thoughts  agitate 
his  soul ;  and  when  a  night-cap  appears  at  an  opening  in  the 
shutter,  and  a  fluttering  voice  exclaims,  "  Oh,  now — really!  Mr. 
O'Brallaghan,"  the  hidden  spectator  trembles  with  jealousy  and 
rage. 

A  colloquy  then  ensues  between  the  manly  singer  and  the 
maiden,  which  we  need  not  repeat.  It  is  enough  to  say,  that 
Mr.  O'Brallaghan  expresses  disapprobation  at  the  coldness  of  the 
lady. 

The  lady  replies,  that  she  respects  and  esteems  Mr.  O'Brallag 
han,  but  never,  never  can  be  his,  owing  to  the  fact  that  she  is 
another's. 

Mr.  Jinks  starts  with  joy,  and  shakes  his  fist — from  the  pro 
tecting  shadow — triumphantly  at  the  poor  defeated  wooer. 

The  wooer,  in  turn,  grows  cold  and  defiant ;  he  upbraids  the 
lady ;  he  charges  her  with  entertaining  a  passion  for  the  rascal 
and  coward  Jinks. 

This  causes  the  lady  to  repel  the  insulting  accusation  with 
hauteur. 

Mr.  O'Brallaghan  thinks,  and  says,  thereupon,  that  she  is  a 
cruel  and  unnatural  woman,  and  unworthy  of  affection  or 
respect. 

Mistress  O'Calligan  wishes,  in  reply,  to  know  if  Mr.  O'Brallag 
han  means  to  call  her  a  Avoman. 

Mr.  O'Brallaghan  replies  that  he  does,  and  that  if  Mr.  Jinks 
were  present,  he  would  exterminate  that  gentleman,  as  some 
small  exhibition  of  the  state  of  his  feelings  at  being  thus  insulted 
by  the  worst  and  most  hard-hearted  of  her  sex. 

After  which,  Mr.  O'Brallaghan  clenches  his  hands  with  threat 
ening  vehemence,  and  brushing  by  the  concealed  Jinks,  who  makes 
himself  as  small  as  possible,  disappears,  muttering  vengeance. 

Mr.  Jinks  is  happy,  radiant,  triumphant,  and  as  he  watches 
the  retreating  wooer,  his  frame  shakes  with  sombre  merriment. 
Then  he  turns  toward  the  window,  and  laughs  with  cautious 
dignity. 


376  MISTRESS  O'CALLIGAN'S  WOOERS. 

,  The  lady,  who  is  just  closing  the  window,  starts  and  utters  an 
exclamation  of  affright.  This,  however,  is  disregarded  by  Mr. 
Jinks,  who  draws  near,  and  stands  beneath  the  window. 

Mistress  O'Calligan  considers  it  necessary  to  state  that  she  is 
in  such  a  taking,  and  to  ask  who  could  have  thought  it.  Mr. 
Jinks  does  not  directly  reply  to  this  question,  but,  reaching  up, 
hands  in  the  bundle,  and  commences  a  whispered  conversation. 
The  lady  is  doubtful,  fearful — Mr.  Jinks  grows  more  eloquent. 
Finally,  the  lady  melts,  and  when  Mr.  Jinks  clasps,  rapturously, 
the  red  hand  hanging  out,  he  has  triumphed. 

In  fifteen  minutes  he  is  on  his  way  back  to  the  tavern,  chuck 
ling,  shaking,  and  triumphant. 

All  is  prepared. 


CHAPTER  LXII. 

VERTY  MUSES. 

LET  us  now  leave  the  good  old  town  of  Winchester,  and  go 
into  the  hills,  where  the  brilliant  autumn  morning  reigns,  splendid 
and  vigorous. 

In  the  hills  !  Happy  is  the  man  who  knows  what  those  words 
mean  ;  for  only  the  mountain-born  can  understand  them.  Happy, 
then,  let  us  say,  are  the  mountain-born  !  We  will  not  underrate 
the  glories  of  the  lowland  and  the  Atlantic  shore,  or  close  our 
eyes  to  the  wealth  of  the  sea.  The  man  is  blind  who  does  not 
catch  the  subtle  charm  of  the  wild  waves  glittering  in  the  sun,  or 
brooded  over  by  the  sullen  storm ;  but  "nigh  gravel  blind"  is 
that  other,  whose  eyes  are  not  open  to  the  grand  beauty  of  the 
mountains.  Let  us  not  rhapsodize,  or  with  this  little  bit  of  yel 
low  ore,  venture  to  speak  of  the  great  piles  of  grandeur  from 
whose  heart  it  was  dug  up.  There  is  that  about  the  mountains, 
with  their  roaring  diapason  of  the  noble  pines,  their  rugged  sum 
mits  and  far  dying  tints,  purple,  and  gold,  and  azure,  which  no 
painter  could  express,  had  the  genius  of  Titian  and  Watteau,  and 
the  atmosphere  of  Poussin,  to  speak  over  its  creations.  No !  let 

them  speak  for  themselves  as  all  great  things  must happy  is 

he,  who,  by  right  of  birth,  can  understand  their  noble  voices  ! 

But  there  is  the  other  and  lesser  mountain  life — the  life  of  the 
hills.  Autumn  loves  these  especially,  and  happy,  too,  are  they 
who  know  the  charm  of  the  breezy  hills !  The  hills  where  au 
tumn  pours  her  ruddy  sunshine  upon  lordly  pines — rather  call 

16* 


378  VERTY  MUSES. 

them  palms! — shooting  their  slender  swaying  trunks  into  the 
golden  sea  of  morning,  and,  far  up  above,  waving  their  emerald 
plumes  in  the  laughing  wind  ; — where  the  sward  is  fresh  and 
dewy  in  the  shivering  delicious  hunter's  morning  ! — where  the 
arrow-wood  and  dog-wood  cluster  crimson  berries,  and  the  ma 
ple,  alder  tree  and  tulip,  burn  away — setting  the  dewy  copse  on 
fire  with  splendor !  Yes,  autumn  loves  the  hills,  and  pours  her 
brawling  brooks,  swarming  with  leaves,  through  thousands  of  hol 
lows,  any  one  of  which  might  make  a  master-piece  on  canvas. 
Some  day  we  shall  have  them — who  knows1? — and  even  the 
great  mountain-ranges  shall  be  mastered  by  the  coming  man. 

We  do  not  know  the  name  of  the  "  hollow"  through  which 
Verty  came  on  the  bright  morning  of  the  day  following  the  events 
we  have  just  related.  But  autumn  had  never  dowered  any  spot 
more  grandly.  All  the  trees  were  bright  and  dewy  in-the  sun 
rise — birds  were  singing — and  the  thousand  variegated  colors  of 
the  fall  swept  on  from  end  to  end  of  it,  swallowing  the  little 
stream,  and  breaking  against  the  sky  like  a  gay  fringe. 

Verty  knew  all  this,  and  though  he  did  not  look  at  it,  he  saw 
it,  and  his  lips  moved. 

Cloud  pricked  up  his  ears,  and  the  hound  gazed  at  his  master 
inquiringly.  But  Verty  was  musing ;  his  large,  dreamy  eyes 
were  fixed  with  unalterable  attention  upon  vacancy,  and  his 
drooping  shoulders,  whereon  lay  the  tangled  mass  of  his  chest 
nut  hair,  swayed  regularly  as  he  moved.  It  only  mingled  with 
his  musings — the  bright  scene — and  grew  a  part  of  them ;  he 
scarcely  saw  it. 

"Yes,"  he  murmured,  "yes,  I  think  I  am  a  Delaware! — a 
white?  to  dream  it!  am  I  mad  ?  The  wild  night- wind  must 
have  whispered  to  me  while  I  slept,  and  gone  away  laughing  at 
me.  I,  the  savage,  the  simple  savage,  to  think  this  was  so  ! 
And  yet — yes,  yes — I  did  think  so  !  Redbud  said  it  was  thus — 
liedbud !" 

And  the  young  man  for  a  time  was  silent. 


TERTY   MUSES.  379 

u  I  wonder  what  Redbud  thinks  of  me  *?"  he  murmured  again, 
with  his  old  dreamy  smile.  "  Can  she  find  anything  to  like  in 
me  ?  What  am  I  ?  Poor,  poor  Verty — you  are  very  weak,  and 
the  stream  here  is  laughing  at  you.  You  are  a  poor  forest  boy — 
there  can  be  nothing  in  you  for  Redbud  to  like.  Oh!  if  she 
could!  But  we  are  friends,  I  know — about  the  other,  why 
think  ?  what  is  it  ?  Love  ! — what  is  love  ?  It  must  be  some 
thing  strange — or  why  do  I  feel  as  if  to  be  friends  was  not 
enough  ?  Love  !" 

And  Verty' s  head  drooped. 

"Love,  love!"  he  murmured.  "Oh,  yes!  I  know  what  it 
means  !  They  laugh  at  it — but  they  ought  not  to.  It  is  heaven 
in  the  heart — sunshine  in  the  breast.  Oh,  I  feel  that  what  I  mean 
by  love  is  purer  than  the  whole  wide  world  besides  !  Yes,  yes — 
because  I  would  die  for  her  !  I  would  give  my  life  to  save  her 
any  suffering — her  hand  on  my  forehead  would  be  dearer  and 
sweeter  than  the  cool  spring  in  the  hills  after  a  weary,  day-long 
hunt,  when  I  come  to  it  with  hot  cheeks  and  burnt-up  throat ! 
Oh,  yes  !  I  may  be  an  Indian,  and  be  different — but  this  is  all  to 
me — this  feeling,  as  if  I  must  go  to  her,  and  kneel  down  and  tell 
her  that  my  life  is  gone  from  me  when  I  am  not  near  her — that 
I  walk  and  live  like  a  man  dreaming,  when  she  does  not  smile 
on  me  and  speak  to  me !" 

Verty' s  head  drooped,  and  his  cheeks  reddened  with  the 
ingenuous  blush  of  boyhood.  Then  he  raised  his  head,  and  mur 
mured,  with  a  smile,  which  made  his  face  beautiful — so  full  of 
light  and  joy  was  it. 

«  Yes — I  think  I  am  in  love  with  Redbud — and  she  does  not 
think  it  wrong,  I  am  sure — oh,  I  don't  think  she  will  think  it 
wrong  in  me,  and  turn  against  me,  only  because  I  love  her !" 

Having  arrived  at  this  conclusion,  Verty  went  along  smiling, 
and  admiring  the  splendid  tints  of  the  foliage — drinking  in  the 
fresh,  breezy  air  of  morning,  and  occasionally  listening  for  the 
cries  of  game— of  deer,  and  turkey,  pheasants,  and  the  rest.  He 


380  VERTY  MUSES. 

heard  with  his  quick  ear  many  of  these  sounds :  the  still  croak 
of  the  turkey,  the  drumming  of  the  pheasant ;  more  than  once 
saw  disappear  on  a  distant  hill,  like  a  flying  shadow,  the  fallow 
deer,  which  [he  had  so  often  chased  and  shot.  But  on  that 
morning  he  could  not  leave  his  path  to  follow  the  wild  deer,  or 
slay  the  lesser  game,  of  which  the  copses  were  full.  Mastered 
by  a  greater  passion  even  than  hunting,  Verty  drew  near  Apple 
Orchard — making  signs  with  his  head  to  the  deer  to  go  on  their 
way,  and  wholly  oblivious  of  pheasants. 

He  reached  Apple  Orchard  just  as  the  sun  soared  redly  up 
above  the  distant  forest ;  and  the  old  homestead  waked  up  with 
it.  Morning  always  smiled  on  Apple  Orchard,  and  the  brilliant 
flush  seemed,  there,  more  brilliant  still;  while  all  the  happy 
breezes  flying  over  it  seemed  to  regret  their  destiny  which  led 
them  far  away  to  other  clouds. 

Verty  always  stopped  for  a  moment  on  his  way  to  and  from 
Winchester,  to  bid  the  inmates  good  morning  ;  and  these  hours 
had  come  to  be  the  bright  sunny  spots  in  days  otherwise  full  of 
no  little  languor.  For  when  was  Daymon  merry  and  light- 
hearted,  separated  from  his  love  ?  It  is  still  the  bright  moment 
of  meeting  which  swallows  up  all  other  thoughts — around  which 
the  musing  heart  clusters  all  its  joy  and  hope — which  is  looked 
forward  to  and  dreamed  over,  with  longing,  dreamy,  yet  excited 
happiness.  And  this  is  the  reason  why  the  most  fatal  blow 
which  the  young  heart  can  suffer  is  a  sudden  warning  that  there 
must  be  no  more  meetings.  No  more !  when  it  dreams  of  and 
clings  to  that  thought  of  meeting,  as  the  life  and  vital  blood  of 
to-morrow ! — when  the  heart  is  liquid — the  eyes  moist  with 
tenderness — the  warp  of  thought  woven  of  golden  thread — at 
such  a  moment  for  the  blow  of  the  wave  to  fall,  and  drown  the 
precious  argosy  with  all  its  freight  of  love,  and  hope,  and  memory 
— this  is  the  supreme  agony  of  youth,  the  last  and  most  refined 
of  tortures. 

Verty  lived  in  the  thought  of  meeting  Redbud — his  days  were 


VERTY  MUSES.  881 

full  of  her ;  but  the  hours  he  passed  at  Apple  Orchard  were 
the  brightest.  The  noonday  culminated  at  dawn  and  sunset ! 

As  he  approached  the  pleasant  homestead  now,  his  eyes  lighted 
up,  and  his  face  beamed  with  smiles.  Eedbud  was  standing  in 
the  porch  waiting  for  him. 

She  was  clad  with  her  usual  simplicity,  and  smiled  gently  as 
he  approached.  Verty  threw  the  bundle  upon  Cloud's  mane, 
and  came  to  her. 

They  scarcely  interchanged  a  word,  but  the  hand  of  the  girl 
was  imprisoned  in  his  own  ;  and  the  tenderness  which  had  been 
slowly  gathering  for  months  into  love,  pure,  and  deep,  and 
strong,  flushed  his  ingenuous  face,  and  made  his  eyes  swim  in 
tears. 

It  was  well  that  Verty  was  interrupted  as  he  essayed  to  speak  ; 
for  we  cannot  tell  what  he  would  have  said.  He  did  not  speak  ; 
for  just  as  he  opened  his  lips,  a  gruff  voice  behind  him  uttered 
the  words : 

"  Well,  sir  !  where  is  your  business  ?" 


CHAPTER  LXIII. 

HOW  VERTY  AND  MISS  LAVINIA   RAN  A-TILT  AT    EACH  OTHER,  AND 
WHO    WAS    OVERTHROWN. 

THE  young  man  turned  round  :  the  gruff  voice  belonged  to 
Judge  Rushton. 

That  gentleman  had  left  his  horse  at  the  outer  gate,  and  ap 
proached  the  house  on  foot.  Absorbed  by  his  own  thoughts, 
Verty  had  not  seen  him — as  indeed  neither  had  Redbud — and 
the  gruff  voice  gave  the  young  man  the  first  intimation  of  his 
presence. 

"  Well,"  repeated  the  lawyer,  leaning  on  his  knotty  stick,  and 
scowling  at  the  two  young  people  from  beneath  his  shaggy  eye 
brows,  "  what  are  you  standing  there  staring  at  me  for  ?  Am  I 
a  wild  beast,  a  rhinoceros,  or  a  monster  of  any  description,  that 
you  can't  speak  ?  I  asked  you  why  you  were  not  in  town  at 
your  work  ?" 

Verty  pointed  to  the  horizon. 

"  The  day  has  only  begun,"  he  said. 

"  Well,  sir—" 

11  And  I  stopped  for  only  one  minute,  Mr.  Rushton,"  added 
Verty." 

"  One  minute !  Do  you  know,  sir,  that  life  is  made  up  of 
minutes  ?" 

k<  Yes,  sir,"  said  Verty. 

"Well,  if  you  know. that,  why  do  you  trifle  away  your 
minutes?  Don't  reply  to  me,  young  man,"  continued  the  shaggy 


VERTY  AND  MISS  LAYINIA  RUN  A- TILT.  383 

bear,  "I 'have  no  desire  to  argue  with  you — I  hate  and  despise 
arguing,  and  will  not  indulge  you.  But  remember  this,  Life  is 
the  struggle  of  a  man  to  pay  the  debt  he  owes  to  Duty.  If  he 
forgets  his  work,  or  neglects  it,  for  paltry  gratifications  of  the 
senses  or  the  feelings,  he  is  disgraced — he  is  a  coward  in  the 
ranks — a  deserter  from  the  regiment — he  is  an  absconding  debtor, 
sir,  and  will  be  proceeded  against  as  such — remember  that,  sir  ! 
A  pretty  thing  for  you  here,  when  you  have  your  duty  to  your 
mother  to  perform,  to  be  thus  dallying  and  cooing  with  this 
baby — ough  !" 

And  the  lawyer  scowled  at  Redbud  with  terrible  emphasis. 

Redbud  knew  Mr.  Rush  ton  well, — and  smiled.  She  was  rather 
grateful  to  him  for  having  interrupted  an  interview  which  her 
woman-instinct  told  had  commenced  critically  ;  and  though  Red- 
bud  could  not,  perhaps,  have  told  any  one  what  she  feared,  still 
this  instinct  spoke  powerfully  to  her. 

It  was  with  a  smile,  therefore,  that  Redbud  held  out  her  hand 
to  Mr.  Rushton,  and  said : 

"Please  don't  scold  Verty — he  won't  stay  long,  and  he  just 
stopped  to  ask  how  we  all  were." 

"Humph!"  replied  the  lawyer,  his  scowling  brow  relaxing 
somewhat  as  he  felt  the  soft,  warm  little  hand  in  his  own, — 
"  humph !  that's  the  way  it  always  is.  He  only  stopped  to 
say  good  morning  to  '  all ;' — I  suspect  his  curiosity  was  chiefly 
on  the  subject  of  a  single  member  of  the  family." 

And  a  grim  smile  corrugated — so  to  speak — the  rugged  coun 
tenance. 

Redbud  blushed  slightly,  and  said : 

"  Yerty  likes  us  all  very  much,  and-—" 

"  Not  a  doubt  of  it !"  said  the  lawyer,  "  and  no  doubt  {  we  all' 
like  Verty  !  Come,  you  foolish  children,  don't  be  bothering  me 
with  your  nonsense.  And  you,  Mr.  Verty — you  need'nt  be  so 
foolish  as  to  consider  everything  I  say  so  harsh  as  you  seem  to. 
You'll  go  next  and  tell  somebody  that  old  Rushton  is  an  ill- 


384  VERTY  AND  MISS  LAVINIA  RUN  A-TILT. 

natured  huncks,  without  conscience  or  proper  feeling  ;  that  he 
grumbled  with  you  for  stopping  a  moment  to  greet  your  friends. 
If  you  say  any  such  thing,"  added  Mr.  Rushton,  scowling  at  the 
young  man,  "  you  will  be  guilty  of  as  base  a  slander — yes,  sir  I 
as  base  a  slander,  sir  ! — as  imagination  could  invent !" 

And  with  a  growl,  the  speaker  turned  from  Verty,  and  said, 
roughly,  to  Redbud : 

"  Where's  your  father  f 

"  Here  I  arn,"  said  the  bluff  and  good-humored  voice  of  the 
Squire,  from  the  door  ;  "  you  are  early — much  obliged  to  you." 
And  the  Squire  and  lawyer  shook  hands.  Mr.  Kushton' s  hand 
fell  coldly  to  his  side,  and  regarding  the  Squire  for  a  moment 
with  what  seemed  an  expression  of  contemptuous  anger,  he  said, 
frowning,  until  his  shaggy,  grey  eye-brows  met  together  almost : 

"  Early !  I  suppose  I  am  to  take  up  the  whole  forenoon — the 
most  valuable  part  of  the  day — jogging  over  the  country  to 
examine  title-deeds  and  accounts  ?  Humph  !  if  you  expect  any 
thing  of  the  sort,  you  are  mistaken.  No,  sir !  I  started  from 
Winchester  at  day-break,  without  my  breakfast,  and  here  I  am." 

The  jovial  Squire  laughed,  and  turning  from  Verty,  with  whom 
he  had  shaken  hands,  said  to  the  lawyer  : 

"  Breakfast? — is  it  possible?  Well,  Kushton,  for  once  I  will  be 
magnanimous — magnificent,  generous  and  liberal — " 

"What!"  growled  the  lawyer. 

"  You  shall  have  some  breakfast  here  !"  finished  the  Squire, 
laughing  heartily  ;  and  the  merry  old  fellow  caught  Miss  Red- 
bud  up  from  the  porch,  deposited  a  matutinal  salute  upon  her 
lips,  and  kicking  at  old  Caesar  as  he  passed,  by  way  of  friendly 
greeting,  led  the  way  into  the  breakfast  room. 

Verty  made  a  movement  to  depart,  inasmuch  as  he  had  break 
fasted  ;  but  the  vigilant  eye  of  the  lawyer  detected  this  suspicious 
manreuvre  ;  and  the  young  man  found  himself  suddenly  com 
manded  to  remain,  by  the  formula  "  Wait !"  uttered  with  a  growl 
which  might  have  done  honor  to  a  lion. 


VEKTY  AND  MISS  LAVINIA  EUN  A-TILT.  385 

Verty  was  not  displeased  at'  this  interference  with  his  move 
ments,  and,  obedient  to  a  sign,  followed  the  lawyer  into  the  break 
fast-room. 

Everything  was  delightfully   comfortable  and  cheerful  there. 

And  ere  long,  at  the  head  of  the  table  sat  Miss  Lavinia,  silent 
and  dignified  ;  at  the  foot,  the  Squire,  rubbing  his  hands,  heaping 
plates  with  the  savory  broil  before  him,  and  talking  with  his 
mouth  full ;  at  the  sides,  Mr.  Rushton,  Redbud  and  Verty,  who 
sedulously  suppressed  the  fact  that  he  had  already  breakfasted, 
for  obvious  reasons,  doubtless  quite  plain  to  the  reader. 

The  sun  streamed  in  upon  the  happy  group,  and  seemed  to 
smile  with  positive  delight  at  sight  of  Redbud' s  happy  face, 
surrounded  by  its  waving  mass  of  curls — and  soft  blue  eyes, 
which  were  the  perfection  of  tenderness  and  joy. 
j  He  smiled  on  Verty,  too,  the  jovial  sun,  and  illumined  the 
young  man's  handsome,  dreamy  face,  and  profuse  locks,  and  un 
couth  hunter  costume,  with  a  gush  of  light  which  made  him  like 
a  picture  of  some  antique  master,  thrown  upon  canvas  in  a 
golden  mood,  to  live  forever.  All  the  figures  and  objects  in  the 
room  were  gay  in  the  bright  sunlight,  too — the  shaggy  head  of 
Mr.  Rushton,  and  the  jovial,  ruddy  face  of  the  Squire,  and  Miss 
Lavinia' s  dignified  and  stately  figure,  solemn  and  imposing,  flanked 
by  the  silver  jug  and  urn — and  on  the  old  ticking  clock,  and 
antique  furniture,  and  smiling  portraits,  and  recumbent  Caesar, 
did  it  shine,  merry  and  laughing,  taking  its  pastime  ere  it  went 
away  to  other  lands,  like  a  great,  cheerful  simple  soul,  smiling  at 
nature  and  all  human  life. 

And  the  talk  of  all  was  like  the  sunshine.  The  old  Squire 
was  king  of  the  breakfast  table,  and  broke  many  a  jesting  shaft 
at  one  and  all,  not  even  sparing  the'  stately  Miss  Lavinia,  and  the 
rugged  bear  who  scowled  across  the  table. 

"  Good  bread  for  once,"  said  the  Squire,  slashing  into  the 
smoking  loaf;  "  astonishing  how  dull  those  negroes  are — not  to 
be  able  to  learn  such  a  simple  thing  as  baking." 

"  Simple  !"  muttered  the  lawyer,  "  it  is  not  simple  !     If  you 


386  VERTY  AND  MISS,  LAVINIA  RUN  A-TILT. 

recollected  something  of  chemistry,  you  would  acknowledge  that 
baking  bread  was  no  slight  achievement." 

"  Come,  growl  again,"  said  his  host,  laughing  ;  "  come,  now, 
indulge  your  habit,  and  say  the  bread  is  sour." 

"  It  is  !" 

"  What ! — sour  !" 

"Yes." 

The  Squire  stands  aghast — or  rather  sits,  laboring  under  that 
sentiment. 

"  It  is  the  best  bread  we  have  had  for  six  months,"  he  says,  at 
length,  "  and  as  sweet  as  a  nut." 

"  You  have  no  taste,"  says  Mr.  Rushton. 

"  No  taste  ?" 

"  None :  and  the  fact  that  it  is  the  best  you  have  had  for  six 
months  is  not  material  testimony.  You  may  have  had  lead  every 
morning — humph  !" 

And  Mr.  Rushton  continues  his  breakfast. 

The  Squire  laughs. 

"  There  you  are — in  a  bad  humor,"  he  says. 

"  I  am  not." 

"  Come  !  say  that  the  broil  is  bad  !" 

"  It  is  burnt  to  a  cinder." 

"  Burnt?     Why  it's  underdone !" 

"  Well,  sir — every  man  to  his  taste — you  may  have  yours ; 
leave  me  mine." 

"Oh,  certainly;  I  see  you  are  determined  to  like  nothing. 
You'll  say  next  that  Lavinia's  butter  is  not  sweet." 

The  lawyer  growls. 

"  I  have  no  desire  to  offend  Miss  Lavinia,"  he  says,  solemnly ; 
"  but  I'll  take  my  oath  that  there's  garlic  in  it — yes,  sir, 
garlic !" 

The  Squire  bursts  into  a  roar  of  laughter. 

"  Good  !"  he  cries — "  you  are  in  a  cheerful  and  contented 
mood.  You  drop  in  just  when  Lavinia  has  perfected  her  butter, 


VEKTY  AND   MISS  LAVINIA  RUN  A-TILT.  387 

and  made  it  as  fresh  as  a  nosegay ;  and  when  the  cook  has  sent 
up  bread  as  sweet  as  a  kernel,  to  say  nothing  of  the  broil,  done 
to  a  turn — you  come  when  this  highly  desirable  state  of  things 
has  been  arrived  at,  and  presume  to  say  that  this  is  done,  that  is 
burnt,  the  other  is  tainted  with  garlic  !  Admire  your  own  judg 
ment  !" 

And  the  Squire  laughs  jovially  at  his  discomfited  and  growling 
opponent. 

"  True,  Lavinia  has  had  lately  much  to  distract  her  attention," 
says  the  jest-hunting  Squire  ;  "  but  her  things  were  never  better 
in  spite  of .  Well  we  won't  touch  upon  that  subject !" 

And  the  mischievous  Squire  laughs  heartily  at  Miss  Lavinia's 
stately  and  reproving  expression. 

"What's  that?"  says  Mr.  Rushton ;  "what  subject?" 

"  Oh,  nothing — nothing." 

"What  does  he  mean,  madam'?"  asks  Mr.  Rushton,  of  the 
lady. 

Miss  Lavinia  colors  slightly,  and  looks  more  stately  than 
ever. 

"  Nothing,  sir,"  she  says,  with  dignity. 

"  i  Nothing  !'  nobody  ever  means  anything  !" 

"  Oh,  never,"  says  the  Squire,  and  then  he  adds,  mischievously, 
— "  by-the-by,  Rushton,  how  is  my  friend,  Mr.  Roundjacket?" 

"  As  villainous  as  ever,"  says  the  lawyer;  "  my  opinion  of 
Mr.  Roundjacket,  sir,  is,  that  he  is  a  villain  !" 

Miss  Lavinia  colors  to  the  temples — the  Squire  nearly  bursts 
with  pent-up  laughter. 

"  What  has  he  done  ?     A  villain  did  you  say  f  he  asks. 

"  Yes,  sir ! — a  wretch  !" 

"  Possible  ?" 

"  Yes — it  is  possible :  and  if  you  knew  as  much  of  human 
nature  as  I  do,  you  would  never  feel  surprised  at  any  man's 
turning  out  a  villain  and  a  wretch  !  I  am  a  wretch  myself, 
sir !" 


388  VERTY  AND  MISS  LAVINIA  RUN  A-TILT. 

And  scowling  at  the  Squire,  Mr.  Rushton  goes  on  with  his 
breakfast. 

The  Squire  utters  various  inarticulate  sounds  which  seem  to 
indicate  the  stoppage  of  a  bone  in  his  throat.  Nevertheless  he 
soon  recovers  his  powers  of  speech,  and  says: 

"  But  how  is  Roundjacket  so  bad?" 

"  He  has  taken  to  writing  poetry." 

"  That's  an  old  charge." 

"  No,  sir — he  has  grown  far  worse,  lately.  He  is  writing  an 
epic — an  epic  !" 

And  the  lawyer  looked  inexpressibly  disgusted. 

"  I  should  think  a  gentleman  might  compose  an  epic  poem 
without  rendering  himself  amenable  to  insult,  sir,"  says  Miss 
Lavinia,  with  freezing  hauteur. 

"  You  are  mistaken,"  says  Mr.  Rushton  ;  "  your  sex,  madam, 
know  nothing  of  business.  The  lawyer  who  takes  to  writing 
poetry,  must  necessarily  neglect  the  legal  business  entrusted  to 
him,  and  for  which  he  is  paid.  Now,  madam,"  added  Mr.  Rush- 
ton,  triumphantly,  "  I  defy  you,  or  any  other  man — individual,  I 
mean — to  say  that  the  person  who  takes  money  without  giving 
an  equivalent,  is  not  a  villain  and  a  wretch  !" 

Miss  Lavinia  colors,  and  mutters  inarticulately. 

"  Such  a  man,"  said  Mr.  Rushton,  with  dreadful  solemnity, 
"  is  already  on  his  way  to  the  gallows ;  he  has  already  com 
menced  the  downward  course  of  crime.  From  this,  he  proceeds 
to  breach  of  promise — 1  mean  any  promise,  not  of  marriage 
only,  madam — then  to  forging,  then  to  larceny,  and  finally  to 
burglary  and  murder.  There,  madam,  that  is  what  I  mean — I 
defy  you  to  deny  the  truth  of  what  I  say!" 

The  Squire  could  endure  the  pressure  upon  his  larynx  no 
longer,  and  exploded  like  a  bomb-shell;  or  if  not  in  so  terrible 
a  manner,  at  least  nearly  as  loudly. 

No  one  can  tell  what  the  awful  sentiments  of  Mr.  Rushton, 


VERTY  AND  MISS  LA  VINT  A  RUN  A-TILT.  389 

on  the  subject  of  Round] acket  would  have  led  to,  had  not  the 
Squire  come  to  the  rescue. 

"  Well,  well,"  he  said,  still  laughing,  "  it  is  plain,  my  dear 
Rushton,  that  for  once  in  your  life  you  are  not  well  posted  up 
on  the  'facts  of  your  case,'  and  you  are  getting  worse  and 
worse  in  your  argument,  to  say  nothing  of  the  prejudice  of  the 
jury.  Come,  let  us  dismiss  the  subject.  I  don't  think  Mr. 
Roundjacket,  however,  wilt  turn  out  a  murderer,  which  would 
be  a  horrible  blow  to  me,  as  I  knew  his  worthy  father  well,  and 
often  visited  him  at  '  Flowery  Lane,'  over  yonder.  But  the 
discussion  is  unprofitable — hey !  what  do  you  think,  Verty,  and 
you,  Miss  Redbud?" 

Verty  raises  his  head  and  smiles. 

"  I  am  very  fond  of  Mr.  Roundjacket,"  he  says. 

"  Fond  of  him  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir :  he  likes  me  too,  I  think,"  Verty  says. 

"  How  does  he  show  it,  my  boy?" 

"  He  gives  me  advice,  sir." 

"  What !  and  you  like  him  for  that1?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  sir." 

"  Well,  perhaps  the  nature  of  the  advice  may  modify  my  sur 
prise  at  your  gratitude,  Verty." 

" Anan,  sir?" 

"  What  advice  does  he  give  you?" 

Verty  laughs. 

"  Must  I  tell,  sir?     I  don't  know  if—" 

And  Verty  blushes  slightly,  looking  at  Miss  Lavinia  and 
Redbud. 

"  Come,  speak  out !"  laughs  the  Squire.    "He  advises  you — " 

"  Not  to  get  married." 

And  Verty  blushes. 

We  need  not  say  that  the  wicked  old  Squire  greets  this 
reply  of  Verty  with  a  laugh  sufficient  to  shake  the  windows. 

"  Not  to  get  married  !"  he  cries. 


390  VERTY  AND   MISS  LAVINIA  RUN  A-TILT. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  Verty  replies,  blushing  ingenuously. 

"  And  you  like  Mr.  Roundjacket,  you  say,  because  he  advises 
you  not  to  get " 

"  No,  oh  !  no,  sir !"  interrupts  Verty,  with  sudden  energy,  "  oh  ! 
no,  sir,  I  did  not  mean  that !" 

And  the  young  man,  embarrassed  by  his  own  vehemence,  and 
the  eyes  directed  toward  his  face,  hangs  his  head  and  blushes. 
Yes,  the  bold,  simple,  honest  Verty,  blushes,  and  looks  ashamed, 
and  feels  as  if  he  is  guilty  of  some  dreadful  crime.  Do  not  the 
best  of  us,  under  the  same  circumstances  ? — that  is  to  say,  if  we 
have  the  good  fortune  to  be  young  and  innocent. 

The  Squire  looks  at  Verty  and  laughs  ;  then  at  Miss  Lavinia. 

"  So,  it  seems,"  he  says,  "  that  Mr.  Roundjacket  counsels  a 
bachelor  life,  eh  ?  Good !  he  is  a  worthy  professor,  but  an  in 
different  practitioner.  The  rascal !  Did  you  ever  hear  of  such 
a  thing,  Lavinia  ?  I  declare,  if  I  were  a  lady,  I  should  decline 
to  recognize,  among  my  acquaintances,  the  upholder  of  such  doc 
trines — especially  when  he  poisons  the  ears  of  boys  like  Verty 
with  them  !" 

And  the  Squire  continues  to  laugh. 

"  Perhaps,"  says  Miss  Lavinia,  with  stately  dignity,  and  glanc 
ing  at  Verty  as  she  speaks, — "perhaps  the — hem — circum 
stances  which  induced  Mr.  Roundjacket  to  give  the  advice,  might 
have  been — been — peculiar." 

And  Miss  Lavinia  smooths  down  her  black  silk  with  dignity. 

"Peculiar?" 

"  Yes,"  says  the  lady,  glancing  this  time  at  Redbud. 

"  How  was  it,  Verty  ?"  the  Squire  says,  turning  to  the  young 
man. 

Verty,  conscious  of  his  secret,  blushes  and  stammers  ;  for  how 
can  he  tell  the  Squire  that  Mr;  Roundjacket  and  himself  were 
discussing  the  propriety  of  his  marrying  Redbud  ?  He  is  no 
longer  the  open,  frank,  and  fearless  Verty  of  old  days — he  has 
become  a  dissembler,  for  he  is  in  love. 


VERTY  AND   MISS  LAVINIA  RUN  A-TILT.  391 

"I  don't  know — oh,  sir — I  could'nt — Mr.  Roundjacket — " 

The  Squire  laughs. 

"  There's  some  secret  here,"  he  says  ;  "  out  with  it,  Verty,  or  it 
will  choke  you.  Come,  Rushton,  you  are  an  adept — cross-ex 
amine  the  witness." 

Mr.  Rushton  growls. 

"  You  won't — then  I  will." 

"  Perhaps  the  time,  and  the  subject  of  conversation,  might  aid 
you,"  says  Miss  Lavinia,  who  is  nettled  at  Verty,  and  thus  is 
guily  of  what  she  is  afterwards  ashamed  of. 

"  A  good  idea,"  says  the  Squire  ;  "  and  I  am  pleased  to  see, 
Lavinia,  that  you  take  so  much  interest  in  Verty  and  Mr.  Round- 
jacket." 

Miss  Lavinia  blushes,  and  looks  solemn  and  stiff. 

"  Plum !"  continues  the  Squire.  "  Oyez  !  the  court  is  opened  ! 
First  witness,  Mr.  Verty  !  Where,  sir,  did  this  conversation 
occur  V9 

Verty  smiles  and  colors. 

"  At  Mr.  Roundjacket's,  sir,"  he  replies. 

"  The  hour,  as  near  as  you  can  recollect." 

"  In  the  forenoon,  sir." 

"  Were  there  any  circumstances  which  tend  to  fix  the  hour, 
and  the  day,  in  your  mind  f 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"What  were  they?" 

"  I  recollect  that  Miss  Lavinia  called  to  see  Mr.  Roundjacket 
that  day,  sir ;  and  as  she  generally  comes  into  town  on  Tuesday 
or  Wednesday,  soon  after  breakfast  it  must  have  been — " 

Verty  is  interrupted  by  a  chair  pushed  back  from  the  table. 
It  is  Miss  Lavinia,  who,  rising,  with  a  freezing  "  excuse  me,"  sails 
from  the  room. 

The  Squire  bursts  into  a  roar  of  laughter,  and  leaving  the 
table,  follows  her,  and  is  heard  making  numerous  apologies  for 


892  VERTY  AND  MISS  LAVINIA  KUN  A- TILT. 

his  wickedness  in  the  next  room.  He  returns  with  the  mischiev- 
ious  smile,  and  says : 

"  There,  Verty  !  you  are  a  splendid  fellow,  but  you  committed 
a  blunder." 

And  laughing,  the  Squire  adds : 

"  Will  you  come  and  see  the  titles,  Rushton?" 

The  lawyer  growls,  rises,  and  bidding  Verty  remain  until  he 
comes  out,  follows  the  Squire. 


CHAPTER  LXIV. 

THE    ROSE    OF    GLENGARY. 

REDBUD  rose,  smiling,  and  with  the  gentle  simplicity  of  one 
child  to  another,  said : 

"  Oh !  you  ought  not  to  have  said  that  about  cousin  Lavinia, 
Verty — ought  you  ?" 

Verty  looked  guilty. 

"  I  don't  think  I  ought,"  he  said. 

"  You  know  she  is  very  sensitive  about  this." 

"  Anan  ?"  Yerty  said,  smiling. 

Redbud  looked  gently  at  the  young  man,  and  replied : 

"  I  mean,  she  does  not  like  any  one  to  speak  of  it  1" 

"  Why  ?"  said  Verty. 

"  Because — because — engaged  people  are  so  funny  !" 

And  Redbud' s  silver  laughter  followed  the  words. 

"  Are  they  ?"  Verty  said. 

"  Yes,  indeed." 

Verty  nodded. 

"  Next  time  I  will  be  more  thoughtful,"  he  said  ;  "  but  I  think 
I  ought  to  have  answered  honestly." 

Redbud  shook  her  curls  with  a  charming  little  expression  of 
affected  displeasure. 

"Oh,  no!  no!" 

"Not  answer?" 

'*  Certainly  not,  sir — fie  !   in  the  cause  of  ladies  !" 

Verty  laughed. 

17 


394  '  THE   EOSE   OF   GLENGARY/. 

"  I  understand,"  he  said,  "  you  are  thinking  of  the  books  about 
the  knights — the  old  Froissart,  yonder,  in  four  volumes.     But 
you  know  there  were'nt  any  courts  in  those  days,  and  knights 
were  not  obliged  to  answer." 
^.  Redbud,  training  up  a  drooping  vine,  replied,  laughing  : 

"  Oh,  no — I  was  only  jesting.  Don't  mind  my  nonsense. 
Look  at  that  pretty  morning-glory." 

Verty  looked  at  Redbud,  as  if  she  were  the  object  in  question. 

"  You  will  hurt  your  hand,"  he  said, — "  those  thorns  on  the 
briar  are  so  sharp ;  take  care  !" 

And  Verty  grasped  the  vine,  and,  no  doubt,  accidentally,  Red- 
bud's  hand  with  it. 

"  Now  I  have  it,"  he  said ;  and  suddenly  seeing  the  double 
meaning  of  his  words,  the  young  man  added,  with  a  blush  and  a 
smile,  "  it  is  all  I  want  in  the  world." 

"What?  the— oh!" 

And  Miss  Redbud,  suddenly  aware  of  Mr.  Verty' s  meaning, 
finds  her  voice  rather  unsafe,  and  her  cheeks  covered  with  blushes. 
But  with  the  tact  of  a  grown  woman,  she  applies  herself  to 
the  defeat  of  her  knight ;  and,  turning  away,  says,  as  easily  as 
possible : 

"  Oh,  yes — the  thorn  ;  it  is  a  pretty  vine ;  take  care,  or  it  will 
hurt  your  hand." 

Verty  feels  astounded  at  his  own  boldness,  but  says,  with  his 
dreamy  Indian  smile : 

"  Oh,  no,  I  don't  want  the  thorn — the  rose  ! — the  rose  !" 

Redbud  understands  that  this  is  only  a  paraphrase — after  the 
Indian  fashion — for  her  own  name,  and  blushes  again. 

"  We — were — speaking  of  cousin  Lavinia,"  she  says,  hesita 
tingly. 

Verty  sighs. 

"Yes,"  he  returns. 
Redbud  smiles. 


THE   KOSE   OF  GLENGARY.  395 

"  And  I  was  scolding  you  for  replying  to  papa's  question,"  she 
adds. 

Verty  sighs  again,  and  says : 

"I  believe  you  were  right;  I  don't  think  I  could  have  told 
them  what  we  were  talking  about." 

"  Why  ?"  asks  the  young  girl. 

"  We  were  talking  about  you,"  says  Verty,  gazing  at  Redbud 
tenderly  ;  "  and  you  will  think  me  very  foolish,"  adds  Verty,  with 
a  tremor  in  his  voice  ;  "  but  I  was  asking  Mr.  Roundjacket  if  he 
thought  you  could — love — me — O,  Redbud — " 

Verty  is  interrupted  by  the  appearance  of  Miss  Lavinia. 

Redbud  turns  away,  blushing,  and  overwhelmed  with  con 
fusion. 

Miss  Lavinia  comes  to  the  young  man,  and  holds  out  her 
hand. 

"  I  did  not  mean  to  hurt  your  feelings,  just  now,  Verty,"  she 
says,  "pardon  me  if  I  made  you  feel  badly.  I  was  somewhat 
nettled,  I  believe." 

And  having  achieved  this  speech,  Miss  Lavinia  stiffens  again 
into  imposing  dignity,  sails  away  into  the  house,  and  disappears, 
leaving  Verty  overwhelmed  with  surprise. 

He  feels  a  hand  laid  upon  his  arm  ; — a  blushing  face  looks 
frankly  and  kindly  into  his  own. 

"  Don't  let  us  talk  any  more  in  that  way,  Verty,  please,"  says 
the  young  girl,  with  the  most  beautiful  frankness  and  ingenuous 
ness  ;  "  we  are  friends  and  playmates,  you  know ;  and  we  ought 
not  to  act  toward  each  other  as  if  we  were  grown  gentleman 
and  lady.  Please  do  not ;  it  will  make  us  feel  badly,  I  am  sure. 
I  am  only  Redbud,  you  know,  and  you  are  Verty,  my  friend  and 
playmate.  Shall  I  sing  you  one  of  our  old  songs 1" 

The  soft,  pure  voice  sounded  in  his  ears  like  some  fine  melody 
of  olden  poets — her  frank,  kind  eyes,  as  she  looked  at  him,  soothed 
and  quieted  him.  Again,  she  was  the  little  laughing  star  of  his 
childhood,  as  when  they  wandered  about  over  the  fields — little 


396  THE   EOSE   OF   GLENGARY. 

children — that  period  so  recent,  yet  which  seemed  so  far  away, 
because  the  opening  heart  lives  long  in  a  brief  space  of  time. 
Again,  she  was  to  him  little  Redbud,  he  to  her  was  the  boy- 
playmate  Verty.  She  had  done  all  by  a  word — a  look ;  a  kind, 
frank  smile,  a  single  glance  of  confiding  eyes.  He  loved  her 
more  than  ever — yes,  a  thousand  times  more  strongly,  and  was 
calm. 

He  followed  her  to  the  harpsichord,  and  watched  her  in  every 
movement,  with  quiet  happiness ;  he  seemed  to  be  under  the 
influence  of  a  charm. 

"  I  think  I  will  try  and  sing  the  '  Rose  of  Glengary,' "  she 
said,  smiling ;  "  you  know,  Verty,  it  is  one  of  the  old  songs  you 
loved  so  much,  and  it  will  make  us  think  of  old  times — in  child 
hood,  you  know  ;  though  that  is  not  such  old,  old  time — at  least 
for  me,"  added  Redbud,  with  a  smile,  more  soft  and  confiding 
than  before.  "  Shall  I  sing  it  ?  "Well,  give  me  the  book — the 
brown-backed  one." 

The  old.  volume — such  as  we  find  to-day  in  ancient  country- 
houses — was  opened,  and  Redbud  commenced  singing.  The 
girl  sang  the  sweet  ditty  with  much  expression  ;  and  her  kind, 
touching  voice  filled  the  old  homestead  with  a  tender  melody, 
such  as  the  autumn  time  would  utter,  could  its  spirit  become 
vocal.  The  clear,  tender  carol  made  the  place  fairy-land  for 
Verty  long  years  afterwards,  and  always  he  seemed  to  hear  her 
singing  when  he  visited  the  room.  Redbud  sang  afterwards 
more  than  one  of  those  old  ditties — "  Jock  o'  Hazeldean,"  and 
"  Flowers  of  the  Forest,"  and  many  others — ditties  which,  for 
us  to-day,  seem  like  so  many  utterances  of  the  fine  old  days  in 
the  far  past. 

For,  who  does  not  hear  them  floating  above  those  sweet  fields 
of  the  olden  time — those  bright  Hesperian  gardens,  where,  for  us 
at  least,  the  fruits  are  all  golden,  and  the  airs  all  happy  ? 

Beautiful,  sad  ditties  of  the  brilliant  past !  not  he  who  writes 
would  have  you  lost  from  memory,  for  all  the  modern  world  of 


THE  ROSE   OF  GLENGARY.  397 

music.  Kind  madrigals !  which  have  an  aroma  of  the  former 
day  in  all  your  cadences  and  dear  old  fashioned  trills — from 
whose  dim  ghosts  now,  in  the  faded  volumes  stored  away  in  gar 
rets  and  on  upper  shelves,  we  gather  what  you  were  in  the  old 
immemorial  years !  Soft  melodies  of  another  age,  that  sound 
still  in  the  present  with  such  moving  sweetness,  one  heart  at 
least  knows  what  a  golden  treasure  you  clasp,  and  listens  thank 
fully  when  you  deign  to  issue  out  from  silence  ;  for  he  finds  in 
you  alone — in  your  gracious  cadences,  your  gay  or  stately  voices 
— what  he  seeks  ;  the  life,  and  joy,  and  splendor  of  the  antique 
day  sacred  to  love  and  memory ! 

And  Verty  felt  the  nameless  charm  of  the  good  old  songs,  war 
bled  by  the  young  girl's  sympathetic  voice ;  and  more  than  once 
his  wild-wood  nature  stirred  within  him,  and  his  eyes  grew  moist. 
And  when  she  ceased,  and  the  soft  carol  went  away  to  the  realm 
of  silence,  and  was  heard  no  more,  the  young  man  was  a  child 
again ;  and  Redbud's  hand  was  in  his  own,  and  all  his  heart 
was  still. 

The  girl  rose,  with  a  smile,  and  said  that  they  had  had  quite 
enough  of  the  harpsichord  and  singing — the  day  was  too  beau 
tiful  to  spend  within  doors.  And  so  she  ran  gaily  to  the  door, 
and  as  she  reached  it,  uttered  a  gay  exclamation.  Ralph  and 
Fanny  were  seen  approaching  from  the  gate. 


CHAPTER  LXV. 

PROVIDENCE. 

I 

RALPH  was  mounted,  as  usual,  upon  his  fine  sorrel,  and  Fanny 
rode  a  little  milk-white  pony,  which  the  young  man  had  procu 
red  for  her.  We  need  not  say  th.it  Miss  Fanny  looked  hand 
some  and  coquettish,  or  Mr.  Ralph  merry  and  good-humored. 
Laughter  was  Fanny's  by  undoubted  right,  unless  her  companion 
could  contest  the  palm. 

Miss  Fanny's  first  movement,  after  dismounting,  was  to  clasp 
Miss  Redbud  to  her  bosom  with  enthusiastic  affection,  as  is 
the  habit  with  young  ladies  upon  public  occasions  ;  and  then 
the  fair  equestrian  recognized  Verty's  existence  by  a  fasci 
nating  smile,  which  caused  the  unfortunate  Ralph  to  gaze  and 
sigh. 

"  Oh,  Redbud !"  cried  Miss  Fanny,  laughing,  and  shaking 
gaily  her  ebon  curls,  "  you  can't  think  what  a  delightful  ride  I've 
had — with  Ralph,  you  know,  who  has'nt  been  half  as  disagree 
able  as  usual — " 

"  Come,"  interposed  Ralph,  "  that's  too  bad !" 

"  Not  for  you,  sir  !" 

"  Even  for  me." 

"  Well,  then,  I'll  say  you  are  more  agreeable  than  usual." 

"  That  is  better,  though  some  might  doubt  whether  that  was 
possible." 


PROVIDENCE.  399 

"  Ralph,  you  are  a  conceited,  fine  gentleman,  and  positively 
dreadful." 

"  Ah,  you  dread  me!" 

"No,  sir!" 

"  Well,  that  is  not  fair — for  I  am  afraid  of  you.  The  fact  is, 
Miss  Redbud,"  continued  Ralph,  turning  to  the  young  girl,  "  I 
have  fallen  deeply  in  love  with  Fanny,  lately — " 

"  Oh,  sir!"  said  Redbud,  demurely. 

"  But  I  have  not  told  you  the  best  of  the  joke." 

"What  is  that?" 

"  She's  in  love  with  me." 

And  Ralph  directed  a  languishing  glance  toward  Fanny, 
who  cried  out : 

"  Impudence !  to  say  that  I  am  in  love  with  you.  It's  too  bad, 
Ralph,  for  you  to  be  talking  so  !"  added  Fanny,  pouting  and 
coloring,  "  and  I'll  thank  you  not  to  talk  so  any  more." 

"Why  not?" 

"  I'll  be  offended." 

"  That  will  make  you  lovely." 
,    "  Mr.  Ashley  !" 
'   "  Miss  Temple  !" 

And  striking  an  attitude,  Mr.  Ashley  waited  for  Fanny's  com 
munication. 

Redbud  smiled,  and  turning  to  Fanny,  said  : 

"  Come,  now,  don't  quarrel — and  come  in  and  take  off  your 
things." 

"  Oh,  I  can't,"  cried  the  volatile  Fanny,  laughing — "  Ralph  and 
myself  just  called  by  ;  we  are  past  our  time  now.  That  horrid 
old  Miss  Sallianna  will  scold  me,  though  she  does  talk  about  the 
beauties  of  nature — I  wonder  if  she  considers  her  front  curls  in 
cluded  !" 

And  Miss  Fanny  tossed  her  own,  and  laughed  in  defiance  of 
the  absent  Sallianna, 


400  PROVIDENCE. 

At  the  same  moment  the  Squire  came  out  with  Mr.  Rushton, 
and  called  to  Redbud.  The  young  girl  ran  to  him. 

"Would  you  like  a  ride,  little  one?"  said  the  Squire,  "  Miss 
Lavinia  and  myself  are  going  to  town." 

"  Oh,  yes,  sir  !" 

"  But  your  visitors — " 

"  Fanny  says  she  cannot  stay." 

Fanny  ran  up  to  speak  for  herself;  and  while  Redbud 
hastened  to  her  room  to  prepare  for  the  ride,  this  young  lady 
commenced  a  triangular  duel  with  the  Squire  and  Mr.  Ralph, 
which  caused  a  grim  smile  to  light  upon  Mr.  Rushton's  face,  for 
an  instant,  so  to  speak. 

The  carriage  then  drove  up  with  its  old  greys,  and  Miss 
Lavinia  and  Redbud  entered.  Before  rode  the  Squire  and  Mr. 
Rushton ;  behind,  Ralph  and  Fanny. 

As  for  Verty,  he  kept  by  the  carriage,  and  talked  with  Redbud 
and  Miss  Lavinia,  who  seemed  to  have  grown  very  good- 
humored  and  friendly. 

Redbud  had  not  ridden  out  since  her  return  to  Apple  Orchard, 
and  the  fresh,  beautiful  day  made  her  cheeks  bright  and  her  eyes 
brilliant.  The  grass,  the  trees,  the  singing  birds,  and  merry 
breezes,  spoke  to  her  in  their  clear,  happy  voices,  and  her  eye 
dwelt  fondly  on  every  object,  so  old,  and  familiar,  and  dear. 

Is  it  wonderful  that  not  seldom  her  glance  encountered 
Yerty's,  and  they  exchanged  smiles'?  His  face  was  the  face  of 
her  boy  playmate — it  was  very  old  and  familiar;  who  can  say 
that  it  was  not  more — that  it  was  not  dear  1 

And  so  they  passed  the  old  gate,  with  all  its  apple  trees,  and 
the  spot  where  the  great  tree  stood,  through  whose  heart  was 
bored  the  aperture  for  the  cider  press  beam — and  through  the 
slope  beyond,  leaving  the  overseer's  house,  babies  and  all,  behind, 
and  issued  forth  into  the  highway  leading  to  the  ancient  borough 
of  Winchester. 


PEOVIDENCE.  401 

And  gazing  on  the  happy  autumn  fields,  our  little  heroine 
smiled  brightly,  and  felt  very  thankful  in  her  heart  to  Him  who 
dowered  her  life  with  all  that  beauty,  and  joy,  and  happiness ; 
and  ever  and  anon  her  hand  would  be  raised  absently  toward  her 
neck,  where  it  played  with  the  old  coral  necklace  taken  from 
the  drawer  in  which  it  had  been  laid — by  accident,  we  should 
say,  if  there  were  any  accident.  And  so  they  approached  the 
town. 


17* 


CHAPTEK  LXVI. 

THE    HOUR    AKD    THE    NECKLACE. 

As  they  entered  the  town,  something  strange  seemed  to  be 
going  on  ;  the  place  was  evidently  in  commotion.  A  great  thrill 
seemed  to  run  through  the  population,  who  were  gathered  at  the 
doors  and  windows — such  of  them  as  did  not  throng  the  streets ; 
and  as  the  hoofs  of  the  horses  struck  upon  the  beaten  way,  a 
drum  suddenly  was  heard  thundering  indignantly  through  the 
narrow  streets. 

The  crowd  rushed  toward  it — hurried,  muttering,  armed  with 
nondescript  weapons,  as  though  the  Indians  were  come  down 
from  the  mountain  fastnesses  once  more ;  and  then,  as  the 
cortege  from  Apple  Orchard  passed  beyond  the  old  fort,  the 
meaning  of  all  the  commotion  was  visible. 

Marching  slowly  along  in  confused  masses,  a  large  portion  of 
the  Irish  population  came  toward  the  fort,  and  from  their  ap 
pearance,  these  men  seemed  ripe  for  commotion. 

They  were  armed  with  clubs,  heavy  canes,  bludgeons,  and  old 
rusty  swords ;  and  these  weapons  were  flourished  in  the  air  in  a 
way  which  seemed  to  indicate  the  desire  to  inflict  death  and 
destruction  on  some  hostile  party  which  did  not  appear. 

But  the  most  singular  portion  of  the  pageant  was  undoubtedly 
the  personage  borne  aloft  by  the  shouting  crowd.  This  was  the 
Dutch  St.  Michael  himself — portly,  redfaced,  with  a  necklace  of 
sour  krout,  clad,  as  had  been  said  by  Mr.  Jinks,  in  six  pairs  of 
pantaloons,  and  resembling  a  hogshead. 


THE  HOUR  AND  THE  NECKLACE.  403 

St.  Michael  was  borne  aloft  on  a  species  of  platform,  supported 
on  the  shoulders  of  a  dozen  men  ;  and  when  the  saint  raised  the 
huge  beer  glass  from  his  knee,  and  buried  his  white  beard  in  it, 
the  swaying  crowd  set  up  a  shout  which  shook  the  houses. 

This  was  the  Irish  defiance  of  the  Dutch  :  the  Emerald  Isle 
against  the  Low  Countries — St.  Patrick  against  St.  Michael. 
The  figure  of  St.  Michael  was  paraded  in  defiance  of  the  Dutch 
— the  thundering  drum  and  echoing  shouts  were  all  so  many 
ironical  and  triumphant  defiances. 

The  shouting  crowd  came  on,  tramping  heavily,  brandishing 
their  clubs,  and  eager  for  the  fray. 

Miss  Lavinia  becomes  terrified  ;  the  ladies  of  the  party,  by  an 
unanimous  vote,  decide  that  they  will  draw  up  to  one  side  by  Mr. 
Rushton's  office,  and  permit  the  crowd  to  pass.  Mr.  Rushton 
desires  to  advance  upon  the  peacebreakers,  and  engage  in  single 
combat  with  St.  Michael  and  all  his  supporters. 

The  Squire  dissuades  him — and  growling  contemptuously,  the 
lawyer  does  not  further  oppose  the  desire  of  the  ladies. 

Then  from  Mr.  Rushton's  office  comes  hastily  our  friend  Mr. 
Roundjacket — smiling,  flourishing  his  ruler,  and  pointing,  with 
well-bred  amusement,  to  the  crowd.  The  crowd  look  sidewise  at 
Mr.  Roundjacket,  who  returns  them  amiable  smiles,  and  brandishes 
his  ruler  in  pleasant  recognition  of  Hibernian  friends  and  clients 
in  the  assemblage. 

Roundjacket  thinks  the  ladies  need  not  be  alarmed.  Still,  as 
there  will  probably  be  a  fight  soon,  they  had  better  get  out  and 
come  in. 

Roundjacket  is  the  public  character  when  he  speaks  thus — he 
is  flourishing  his  ruler.  It  is  only  when  Miss  Lavinia  has  de 
scended  that  he  ogles  that  lady.  Suddenly,  however,  he  resumes 
his  noble  and  lofty  carriage,  and  waves  the  ruler  at  his  friend, 
St.  Michael — tailor  and  client — by  name,  O'Brallaghan. 

The  crowd  passes  on,  with  thundering  drums  and  defiant 
shouts ;  and  our  party,  from  Apple  Orchard,  having  affixed  their 


404  THE  HOUR  AND  THE  NECKLACE. 

horses  to  the  wall,  near  at  hand,  gaze  on  the  masquerade  from 
Mr.  Rushton's  office. 

We  have  given  but  a  few  words  to  the  strange  pageant  which 
swept  on  through  the  main  street  of  the  old  border  town  ;  and 
this  because  any  accurate  description  is  almost  wholly  impossi 
ble.  Let  the  reader  endeavor  to  imagine  Pandemonium  broke 
loose,  with  all  its  burly  inmates,  and  thundering  voices,  and  outre 
forms,  and,  perhaps,  the  general  idea  in  his  mind  may  convey  to 
him  some  impression  of  the  rout  which  swept  by  with  its  shouts 
and  mad  defiances. 

Some  were  clad  in  coat  and  pantaloons  only ;  others  had  for 
gotten  the  coat,  and  exposed  brawny  and  hirsute  torsos  to  the 
October  sun,  and  swelling  muscles  worthy  of  Athletes. 

Others,  again,  were  almost  sans-culottes,  only  a  remnant  being 
left,  which  made  the  deficiency  more  tantalizingly  painful  to  the 
eye. 

Let  the  reader,  then,  imagine  this  spectacle  of  torn  garments, 
tattered  hats,  and  brandished  clubs — not  forgetting  the  tatterde 
malion  negro  children,  who  ran  after  the  crowd  in  the  last  state 
of  dilapidation,  and  he  will  have  some  slight  idea  of  the  mas 
querade,  over  which  rode,  in  supreme  majesty,  the  trunk-nosed 
Mr.  O'Brallaghan. 

We  need  not  repeat  the  observations  of  the  ladies ;  or  detail 
their  exclamations,  fears,  and  general  behavior.  Like  all  mem 
bers  of  the  fair  sex,  they  made  a  virtue  of  necessity,  and  assumed 
the  most  winning  expressions  of  timidity  and  reliance  on  their 
cavaliers  ;  and  even  Miss  Lavinia  reposed  upon  a  settee,  and  ex 
claimed  that  it  was  dreadful — very  dreadful  and  terrifying. 

Thereat,  Mr.  Roundjacket  rose  into  the  hero,  and  alluded  to 
the  crowd  with  dignified  amusement ;  and  when  Miss  Lavinia 
said,  in  a  low  voice,  that  other  lives  were  precious  to  her  besides 
her  own — evidently  referring  to  Mr.  Roundjacket — that  gentle 
man  brandished  his  ruler,  and  declared  that  life  was  far  less 
valuable  than  her  smiles. 


THE  HOUR  AND  THE  NECKLACE.        405 

In  another  part  of  the  room  Ralph  and  Fanny  laughed  and 
jested — opposite  them,  Mr.  Rush  ton  indignantly  shook  his  fist 
in  the  direction  of  the  crowd,  and  vituperated  the  Hibernian 
nation,  in  a  manner  shocking  to  hear. 

Verty  was  leaning  on  the  mantel-piece,  as  quietly  as  if  there 
was  nothing  to  attract  his  attention.  He  had  pushed  Cloud 
through  the  mass  with  the  unimpressed  carriage  of  the  Indian 
hunter ;  and  his  dreamy  eyes  were  far  away — he  listened  to  other 
sounds  than  shouts,  perhaps  to  a  maiden  singing. 

The  little  singer — we  refer  to  Miss  Redbud — had  been  much 
terrified  by  the  crowd,  and  felt  weak,  owing  to  the  recent  sick 
ness.  She  looked  round  for  a  seat,  and  saw  none. 

The  door  leading  into  the  inner  sanctum  of  Mr.  Rushton  then 
attracted  her  attention,  and  seeing  a  comfortable  chair  within, 
she  entered,  and  sat  down. 

Redbud  uttered  a  sigh  of  weariness  and  relief,  and  then  gazed 
around  her. 

The  curtain  was  drawn  back  from  the  picture — the  child's  face 
was  visible. 

She  went  to  it,  and  was  lost  in  contemplation  of  the  bright, 
pretty  face ;  when,  as  had  happened  with  Verty,  she  felt  a  hand 
upon  her  shoulder,  and  started. 

Mr.  Rushton  stood  beside  her. 

"  Well,  Miss  !"  he  said,  roughly,  "  what  are  you  doing  ?" 

"  Oh,  sir  !"  Redbud  replied,  "  I  am  sorry  I  offended  you — but 
I  saw  this  pretty  picture,  and  just  come  to  look  at  it." 

"  Humph  !"  growled  the  lawyer,  "  nothing  can  be  kept  private 
here." 

And,  with  a  softened  expression,  he  gazed  at  the  picture. 

"  It  is  very  pretty,"  said  Redbud,  gently  ;  "  who  was  she,  sir  ?" 

The  lawyer  was  silent ;  he  seemed  afraid  to  trust  his  voice. 
At  last  he  said : 

"  My  child." 


406  THE   HOUR  AND  THE   NECKLACE. 

And  his  voice  was  so  pathetic,  that  Eedbud  felt  the  tears  come 
to  her  eyes. 

"  Pardon  me  for  making  you  grieve,  Mr.  Rushton,"  she  said, 
softly,  "  it  was  very  thoughtless  in  me.  But  will  you  let  me 
speak  ?  She  is  in  heaven,  you  know  ;  the  dear  Savior  said  him 
self,  that  the  kingdom  of  heaven  was  full  of  such." 

The  lawyer's  head  bent  down,  and  a  hoarse  sigh,  which  re 
sembled  the  growl  of  a  lion,  shook  his  bosom. 

Redbud's  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

"  Oh,  do  not  grieve,  sir,"  she  said,  in  a  tremulous  voice,  "trust 
in  God,  and  believe  that  He  is  merciful  and  good." 

The  poor  stricken  heart  brimmed  with  its  bitter  and  corroding 
agony ;  and,  raising  his  head,  the  lawyer  said,  coldly  : 

"  Enough !  this  may  be  very  well  for  you,  who  have  never 
suffered — it  is  the  idle  wind  to  me !  Trust  in  God  ?  Away ! 
the  words  are  fatuitous ! — ough  !"  and  wiping  his  moist  brow,  he 
added,  coldly,  "  What  a  fool  I  am,  to  be  listening  to  a  child  !" 

Redbud,  with  her  head  bent  down,  made  no  reply. 

Her  hand  played,  absently,  with  the  coral  necklace ;  without 
thinking,  she  drew  it  with  her  hand. 

The  time  had  come. 

The  old  necklace,  worn  by  use,  parted  asunder,  arid  fell  upon 
the  floor.  The  lawyer,  with  his  cold  courtesy,  picked  it  up. 

As  he  did  so, — as  his  eye  dwelt  upon  it,  a  strange  expression 
flitted  across  his  rugged  features. 

With  a  movement,  as  rapid  as  thought,  he  seized  the  gold  clasp 
with  his  left  hand,  and  turned  the  inner  side  up. 

His  eye  was  glued  to  it  for  a  moment,  his  brow  grew  as  pale  as 
death,  and  sinking  into  the  old  chair,  he  murmured  hoarsely : 

"  Where  did  you  get  this  ?" 

Redbud  started,  and  almost  sobbing,  could  not  reply. 

He  caught  her  by  the  wrist,  with  sudden  vehemence,  and  hold 
ing  the  necklace  before  her,  said  : 

"  Look !" 


THE  HOUR  AND  THE  NECKLACE.        407 

Upon  the  inside  of  the  gold  plate  were  traced,  in  almost  illegi 
ble  lines,  the  letters,  "A.  R." 

"  It  was  my  child's !"  he  said,  hoarsely  ;  "  where  .did  you 
get  it  T ' 

Redbud,  with  a  tremor  which  she  could  not  restrain,  told  how 
she  had  purchased  the  necklace  from  a  pedlar ;  she  knew  no 
more  ;  did  not  know  his  name — but  recollected  that  he  was  a 
German,  from  his  accent. 

The  lawyer  fell  into  his  chair,  and  was  silent :  his  strong  frame 
from  time  to  time  trembled — his  bosom  heaved. 

At  last  he  raised  his  face,  which  seemed  to  have  sunken  away 
in  the  last  few  moments,  and  still  holding  the  necklace  tightly, 
motioned  Redbud  toward  the  door. 

"  We — will — speak  further  of  this,"  he  said,  his  voice  charged 
with  tears  ;  and  with  a  slow  movement  of  his  head  up  and  down, 
he  again  desired  Redbud  to  leave  him. 

Siie  went  out : — the  last  she  saw  was  Mr.  Rushton  clasping 
the  necklace  to  his  lips,  and  sobbing  bitterly. 
^  In  the  outer  room  they  laughed  and  jested  gaily. 


CHAPTER  LXVH. 

HOW    ST.    PATRICK    ENCOUNTERED    ST.    MICHAEL,    AND    WHAT 
ENSUED. 

As  REDBUD  entered  the  outer  room,  the  talkers  suddenly  be 
came  silent,  and  ran  to  the  windows. 

The  procession  has  returned : — the  pageant  has  retraced  its 
steps  : — the  swaying,  shouting,  battle-breathing  rout  has  made 
the  northern  end  of  the  town  hideous,  and  comes  back  to  make 
the  portion  already  passed  over  still  more  hideous. 

Hitherto  the  revellers  have  had  a  clear  sweep — an  unobstruct 
ed  highway.  They  have  gone  on  in  power  and  glory,  conquer 
ing  where  there  was  no  enemy,  defying  where  there  was  no  ad 
versary. 

But  this  all  changes  suddenly,  and  a  great  shout  roars  up 
from  a  hundred  mouths. 

Another  drum  is  heard ;  mutterings  from  the  southern  end  of 
the  town  respond. 

The  followers  of  the  maligned  and  desecrated  Michael  are  in 
battle  array — the  Dutch  are  out  to  protect  their  saint,  and  meet 
the  Irish  world  in  arms. 

They  come  on  in  a  tumultuous  mass  :  they  sway,  they  bend, 
they  leap,  they  shout.  The  other  half  of  Pandemonium  has 
turned  out,  and  surrounding  ears  are  deafened  by  the  demoniac 
chorus. 

In  costume  they  are  not  dissimilar  to  their  enemies — in  ro 
tundity  they  are  superior,  however,  if  not  in  brawn.  Every 


A  PAIR   OF   SAINTS.  409 

other  warrior  holds  his  pipe  between  his  teeth,  and  all  brandish 
nondescript  weapons,  like  their  enemies,  the  Irish. 

And  as  the  great  crowd  draws  near,  the  crowning  peculiarity 
of  the  pageant  is  revealed  to  wondering  eyes. 

The  Dutch  will  have  their  defiant  masquerade  no  less  than 
their  enemies  :  the  Irish  parade  St.  Michael  in  derision  :  their' s 
be  it  to  show  the  world  an  effigy  of  St.  Patrick. 

Borne,  like  St.  Michael,  on  a  platform  raised  above  the  univer 
sal  head,  in  proud  pre-eminence  behold  the  great  St.  Patrick,  and 
his  wife  Sheeley ! 

St.  Patrick  is  tall  and  gaunt,  from  his  contest  with  the  ser 
pents  of  the  emerald  isle.  He  wears  a  flowing  robe,  which 
nevertheless  permits  his  slender,  manly  legs  to  come  out  and  be 
visible.  He  boasts  a  shovel  hat,  adorned  with  a  gigantic  sprig  of 
shamrock  :  he  sits  upon  the  chest  in  which,  if  historical  tradi 
tion  truly  speaks,  the  great  boa  constrictor  of  Killarney  was  shut 
up  and  sunk  into  the  waters  of  the  lake.  Around  his  neck  is  a 
string  of  Irish  potatoes — in  his  hand  a  shillelah. 

Beside  him  sits  his  wife  Sheeley,  rotund  and  ruddy,  with  a 
coronet  of  potatoes,  a  necklace  of  potatoes,  a  breastpin  of  pota 
toes — and  lastly,  an  apron  full  of  potatoes.  She  herself  resem 
bled  indeed  a  gigantic  po'catoe,  and  philologians  might  have  con 
jectured  that  her  very  name  was  no  more  than  a  corruption  of 
the  adjective  mealy. 

The  noble  saint  and  his  wife  came  on  thus  far  above  the  roar 
ing  crowd,  and  as  they  draw  nearer,  lo !  the  saint  and  Sheeley 
are  revealed. 

The  saint  is  personated  by  the  heroic  Mr.  Jinks — his  wife  is 
represented  by  Mistress  O'Calligan! 

This  is  the  grand  revenge  of  Mr.  Jinks — this  is  the  sweet  mor 
sel  which  he  has  rolled  beneath  his  tongue  for  days — this  is  the 
refinement  of  torture  he  has  mixed  for  the  love-sick  O'Brallaghan, 
who  personates  the  opposing  Michael. 

As  the  adversaries  see  their  opponents,  they   roar — as  they 


410  A  PAIR   OF  SAINTS. 

catch  sight  of  their  patron  saints  thus  raised  aloft  derisively,  they 
thunder.  The  glove  is  thrown,  the  die  is  cast — in  an  instant 
they  are  met  in  deadly  battle. 

Would  that  our  acquaintance  with  the  historic  muse  were 
sufficiently  intimate  to  enable  us  to  invoke  her  aid  on  this  occa 
sion.  But  she  is  far  away,  thinking  of  treaties  and  protocols, 
and  "  eventualities"  far  in  the  orient,  brooding  o'er  lost  Sebas- 
topol. 

The  reader  therefore  must  be  content  with  hasty  words. 

The  first  item  of  the  battle  worthy  to  be  described,  is  the 
downward  movement  of  the  noble  saints  from  their  high  posi 
tion. 

Once  in  the  melee,  clutching  at  their  enemies,  the  combatants 
become  oblivious  of  saintly  affairs.  The  shoulders  of  the  plat 
form  bearers  bend — the  platforms  tumble — St.  Patrick  grapples 
with  St.  Michael,  who  smashes  his  pewter  beer-pot  down  upon 
the  shamrock. 

The  shamrock  rises — wild  and  overwhelmed  with  terror,  re 
creant  to  Ireland,  and  quailing  before  Michael,  who  has  stum 
bled  over  Sheeley. 

Mr.  Jinks  retreats  through  the  press  before  O'Brallaghan, 
who  pursues  him  with  horrible  ferocity,  breathing  vengeance,  and 
on  fire  with  rage. 

O'Brallaghan  grasps  Jinks'  robe — the  robe  is  torn  from  his 
back,  and  O'Brallaghan  falls  backwards  :  then  rises,  still  over 
whelmed  with  rage. 

Jinks  suddenly  sees  a  chance  of  escape — he  has  intrusted 
Fodder  to  a  boy,  who  rides  now  in  the  middle  of  the  press. 

He  tears  the  urchin  from  the  saddle,  seizes  a  club,  and  leaping 
upon  Fodder's  back,  brandishes  his  weapon,  and  cheers  on  his 
men  to  victory. 

But  accidents  will  happen  even  to  heroes.  Mr.  Jinks  is  not  a 
great  rider — it  is  his  sole  weak  point.  Fodder  receiving  a  blow 
behind,  starts  forward — then  stops,  kicking  up  violently. 


A  PAIR  OF  SAINTS.  411 

The  forward  movement  causes  the  shoulders  of  Mr.  Jinks  to 
fly  down  on  the  animal's  back,  the  legs  of  Mr.  Jinks  to  rise  into 
the  air.  The  backward  movement  of  the  donkey's  heels  inter 
poses  at  this  moment  to  knock  Mr.  Jinks  back  to  his  former 
position. 

But  his  feet  are  out  of  the  stirrups,  he  cannot  keep  his  seat ; 
and  suddenly  he  feels  a  hand  upon  his  leg — his  enemy  glares  on 
him ;  he  is  whirled  down  to  the  earth,  and  O'Brallaghan  has 
caught  his  prey. 

The  stormy  combat,  with  its  cries,  and  shouts,  and  blows, 
and  imprecations,  closes  over  them,  and  all  seems  lost  for 
Jinks. 

Not  so.  When  fate  seems  to  lower  darkest,  sunlight  comes. 
O'Brallaghan  has  brought  his  stalwart  fist  down  on  Mr. 
Jinks'  nose  but  once,  has  scarcely  caused  the  "  gory  blood" 
of  that  gentleman  to  spout  forth  from  the  natural  orifices, 
when  a  vigorous  female  hand  is  laid  upon  his  collar,  and  he 
turns. 

It  is  Mistress  O'Calligan  Sheeley  come  to  the  rescue  of  her 
husband. 

O'Brallaghan  is  pulled  from  Jinks — that  hero  rises,  and 
attempts  to  flee. 

He  rushes  into  the  arms  of  another  lady,  who,  in  passing  near 
the  crowd,  has  been  caught  up  like  a  leaf  and  buried  in  the  com 
bat — Miss  Sallianna. 

But  fate  is  again  adverse,  though  impartial.  Mr.  Jinks  and 
O'Brallaghan  are  felled  simultaneously  by  mighty  blows,  and  the 
rout  closes  over  them.  ,  , 

As  they  fall,  a  swaying  motion  in  the  crowd  is  felt — the 
authorities  have  arrived — the  worn-out  combatants  draw  off", 
sullenly,  and  the  dead  and  wounded  only  are  left  upon  the 
field. 

The   crowd  retires — they  have  had   their  fight,   and  broken 


412  A  PAIR  OF  SAINTS. 

numerous  heads.  They  have  vindicated  the  honor  of  their 
Saints — to-morrow  they  are  friends  and  neighbors  again. 

One  beautiful  and  touching  scene  is  left  for  aftertimes — one 
picture  which  even  the  historic  muse  might  have  paused  near, 
and  admired. 

Two  lovely  dames  contend  for  the  privilege  of  holding  a 
bloody  warrior's  head,  whose  nose  is  injured. 

It  is  Mr.  Jinks,  Miss  Judith,  and  Miss  Sallianna. 


CHAPTER  LXVIII. 

THE    END    OF    THE    CHAIN. 

WE  are  conscious  that  the  description  of  the  great  battle  just 
given  is  but  a  poor  and  lame  delineation,  and  we  can  only  plead 
defective  powers  in  that  department  of  art — the  treatment  of 
battle-pieces. 

We  cannot  describe  the  appearance  of  the  battle-field  after  the 
combat,  any  more  than  the  contest. 

Wounded  and  crack-crowned,  groaning  and  muttering  heroes 
dragging  themselves  away — this  is  the  resume  which  we  find  it 
in  our  power  alone  to  give. 

One  hero  only  seems  to  be  seriously  injured. 

He  is  a  man  of  forty-five  or  fifty,  with  a  heavy  black  beard, 
thick  sensual  lips,  and  dog-like  face.  He  is  clad  roughly ;  and 
the  few  words  which  he  utters  prove  that  he  is  a  German. 

The  fight  has  taken  place  opposite  Mr.  Rushton's  office,  and 
thither  this  man  is  borne. 

Mr.  Rushton  growls,  and  demands  how  he  had  the  audacity  to 
break  the  peace.  The  man  mutters.  Mr.  Rushton  observes 
that  he  will  have  him  placed  in  the  stocks,  and  then  sent  to  jail. 
The  German  groans. 

Suddenly  Mr.  Rushton  feels  a  hand  upon  his  arm.  He  turns 
round :  it  is  Redbud. 

"  That  is  the  man  who  sold  me  the  necklace,  sir  !"  she  says,  in 
a  hesitating  voice.  "  I  recognize  him — it  is  the  pedlar." 


414  THE   END   OF   THE   CHAIN. 

Mr.  Kushton  starts,  and  catches  the  pedlar  by  the  arm. 

"  Come !"  he  commences. 

The  pedlar  rises  without  assistance,  sullenly,  prepared  for  the 
stocks. 

"  Where  did  you  get  this  necklace  ?     Speak  !" 

The  lawyer's  eyes  awe  the  man,  and  he  stammers.  Mr. 
liushton  grasps  him  by  the  collar,  and  glares  at  him  ferociously. 

"Where?" 

In  five  minutes  he  has  made  the  pedlar  speak — he  bought  the 
necklace  from  the  mother  of  the  young  man  standing  at  the 
door. 

"  From  the  Indian  woman  ?" 

"  Yes,  from  her." 

Mr.  Rushton  turns  pale,  and  falls  into  a  chair. 

Verty  hastens  to  him. 

The  lawyer  rises,  and  gazes  at  him  with  pale  lips,  passes  his 
hand  over  his  brow  with  nervous,  trembling  haste.  He  holds 
the  necklace  up  before  Verty  there,  and  says,  in  a  husky  voice — 

"Where  did  your  mother  get  this?" 

Verty  gazes  at  the  necklace,  and  shakes  his  head. 

"  I  don't  know,  sir — I  don't  know  that  it  is  her's — I  think  I 
have  seen  it  though — yes,  yes,  long,  long  ago — somewhere  !" 

And  the  young  hunter's  head  droops,  thoughtfully — his  dreamy 
eyes  seem  to  wander  over  other  years. 

Then  he  raises  his  head  and  says,  abruptly : 

"  I  had  a  strange  thought,  sir !  I  thought  I  saw  myself — 
only  I  was  a  little  child — playing  with  that  necklace  somewhere 
in  a  garden — oh,  how  strange !  There  were  walks  with  box,  and 
tulip  beds,  and  in  the  middle,  a  fountain — strange !  I  thought 
I  saw  Indians,  too — and  heard  a  noise — why,  I  am  dreaming  !" 

The  lawyer  looks  at  Verty  with  wild  eyes,  which,  slowly,  very 
slowly,  fill  with  a  strange  light,  which  makes  the  surrounding 
personages  keep  silent — so  singular  is  this  rapt  expression. 

A  thought  is  rising  on  the  troubled  and  agitated  mind  of  the 


THE   END   OF  THE   CHAIN.  415 

lawyer,  like  a  moon  soaring  above  the  horizon.  He  trembles, 
and  does  not  take  his  eyes  for  a  moment  from  the  young  man's 
face. 

"  A  fountain — Indians  ?"  he  mutters,  almost  inarticulately. 

"  Yes,  yes  !"  says  Verty,  with  dreamy  eyes,  and  crouching,  so 
to  speak,  Indian  fashion,  until  his  tangled  chestnut  curls  half 
cover  his  cheeks — "  yes,  yes  ! — there  again  ! — why  it  is  magic — 
there  !  I  see  it  all — I  remember  it !  I  must  have  seen  it ! 
lledbud!"  he  said,  turning  to  the  young  girl  with  a  frightened 
air,  "  am  I  dreaming0?" 

Kedbud  would  have  spoken.  Mr.  Rushton,  with  a  sign,  bade 
her  be  silent.  He  looked  at  the  young  man  with  the  same  strange 
look,  and  said  in  a  low  tone : 

"  Must  have  seen  what?" 

"  Why,  this  !"  said  Verty,  half  extending  his  arm,  and  point 
ing  toward  a  far  imaginary  horizon,  on  which  his  dreamy  eyes 
were  fixed — "this!  don't  you  see  it?  My  tribe!  my  Delawares 
— there  in  the  woods  !  They  attack  the  house,  and  carry  off  the 
child  in  the  garden  playing  with  the  necklace.  His  nurse  is 
killed — poor  thing !  her  blood  is  on  the  fountain !  Now  they 
go  into  the  great  woods  with  the  child,  and  an  Indian  woman 
takes  him  and  will  not  let  them  kill  him — he  is  so  pretty  with 
his  long  curls  like  the  sunshine :  you  might  take  him  for  a  girl ! 
The  Indian  woman  holds  before  him  a  bit  of  looking-glass,  stolen 
from  the  house  !  Look  !  they  will  have  his  life — oh  !" 

And  crouching,  with  an  exclamation  of  terror,  Verty  shud 
dered. 

"  Give  me  my  rifle !"  he  cried ;  "  they  are  coming  there ! 
Back !" 

And  the  young  man  rose  erect,  with  flashing  eyes. 

"  The  woman  flies  in  the  night,"  he  continues,  becoming  calm 
again ;  "  they  pursue  her — she  escapes  with  the  boy — they  come 
to  a  deserted  lodge — a  lodge  !  a  lodge !  Why,  it  is  our  lodge  in 
the  hills !  It's  ma  mere  I  and  I  was  that  child  !  Am  I  mad  ?" 


416  THE   END   OF   THE    CHAIN. 

And  Verty  raised  his  head,  and  looked  round  him  with  terror. 

His  eye  fell  upon  Mr.  Rushton,  who,  breathing  heavily,  his 
looks  riveted  to  his  face,  his  lips  trembling,  seemed  to  control 
some  overwhelming  emotion  by  a  poweriul  effort. 

The  lawyer  rose,  and  laid  his  hand  upon  Verty's  shoulder — it 
trembled. 

"  You  are — dreaming — ,"  he  gasped.  Suddenly,  a  brilliant  flash 
darted  from  his  eye.  With  a  movement,  as  rapid  as  thought,  he 
tore  the  clothes  from  the  young  man's  left  shoulder,  so  as  to 
leave  it  bare  to  the  armpit. 

Exactly  on  the  rounding  of  the  shoulder,  which  was  white, 
and  wholly  free  from  the  copper-tinge  of  the  Indian  blood,  the 
company  descried  a  burn,  apparently  inflicted  in  infancy. 

The  dazzled  eyes  of  the  lawyer  almost  closed — he  fell  into  the 
old  leather  chair,  and  sobbing,  "  my  son !  my  son  Arthur  i"  would 
have  fainted. 

He  was  revived  promptly,  and  the  wondering  auditors  gathered 
around  him,  listening,  while  he  spoke — the  shaggy  head,  leaning 
on  the  shoulder  of  Verty,  who  knelt  at  his  feet,  and  looked 
up  in  his  eyes  with  joy  and  wonder. 

Yes !  there  could  be  no  earthly  doubt  that  the  strange  words  ut 
tered  by  the  boy,  were  so  many  broken  and  yet  brilliant  memories 
shining  from  the  dim  past :  that  this  was  his  son — the  original  of 
the  portrait.  The  now  harsh  and  sombrp  lawyer,  when  a  young 
and  happy  man,  had  married  a  French  lady,  and  lived  on  the  bor 
der  ;  and  his  little  son  had,  after  the  French  fashion,  received,  for 
middle  name,  his  mother's  name,  Anne — and  this  had  become  his 
pet  designation.  His  likeness  had  been  painted  by  a  wandering 
artist,  and  soon  after,  a  band  of  Delawares  had  attacked  the 
homestead  and  carried  him  away  to  the  wilderness,  and  there  had 
remained  little  doubt,  in  his  father's  mind,  that  the  child  had 
been  treated  as  the  Indians  were  accustomed  to  treat  such  cap 
tives — mercilessly  slain.  The  picture  of  him  was  the  only  treas 
ure  left  to  the  poor  broken  heart,  when  heaven  had  taken  his 


THE   END  OF  THE   CHAIN.  417 

wife  from  him,  soon  afterwards — and  in  the  gloom  and  misan 
thropy  these  tortures  inflicted  upon  him,  this  alone  had  been  his 
light  and  solace.  Retaining  for  the  boy  his  old  pet  name  of 
Anne,  he  had  cried  in  presence  of  the  picture,  and  been  hardened 
in  spite  of  all,  against  Providence.  In  the  blind  convulsions  of 
his  passionate  regret,  he  had  even  uttered  blasphemy,  and  scouted 
anything  like  trust  in  God ;  and  here  now  was  that  merciful  God 
leading  his  child  back  to  him,  and  pardoning  all  his  sin  of  un 
belief,  and  enmity,  and  hatred  ;  and  saying  to  him,  in  words  of 
marvellous  sweetness  and  goodness,  "  Poor  soured  spirit,  hence 
forth  worship  and  trust  in  me  !" 

Yes !  his  son  Arthur,  so  long  wept  and  mourned,  had  come 
to  him  again — was  there  before  him,  kneeling  at  his  feet ! 

And  with  his  arms  around  the  boy,  the  rugged  man  bent  down 
and  wept,  and  uttered  in  his  heart  a  prayer  for  pardon. 

And  we  may  be  sure  that  the  man's  joy  was  not  unshared  by 
those  around — those  kind,  friendly  eyes,  which  looked  upon  the 
father  and  son,  and  rejoiced  in  their  happiness.  The  very  sun 
shine  grew  more  bright,  it  seemed ;  and  when  the  picture  was 
brought  forth,  and  set  in  his  light,  he  shone  full  on  it,  and  seemed 
to  laugh  and  bless  the  group  with  his  kind  light — even  the  little 
laughing  child. 


18 


CHAPTER  LXIX. 

CONCLUSION. 

OUR  chronicle  is  ended,  and  we  cannot  detain  the  reader  lon 
ger,  listening  to  those  honest  kindly  voices,  which  have,  perhaps, 
spoken  quite  as  much  as  he  is  willing  to  give  ear  to.  Let  us 
hope,  that  in  consideration  of  their  kindness  and  simplicity,  he 
may  pardon  what  appeared  frivolous — seeing  that  humanity  beat 
under  all,  and  kindness — like  the  gentle  word  of  the  poet — is 
always  gain. 

The  history  is  therefore  done,  and  all  ends  here  upon  the 
bourne  of  comedy.  Redbud,  with  all  her  purity  and  tenderness 
— Verty,  with  his  forest  instincts  and  simplicity — the  lawyer,  and 
poet,  and  the  rest,  must  go  again  into  silence,  from  which  they 
came.  They  are  gone  away  now,  and  their  voices  sound  no 
more ;  their  eyes  beam  no  longer ;  all  their  merry  quips  and  sighs, 
their  griefs  and  laughter,  die  away — the  comedy  is  ended.  Do 
not  think  harshly  of  the  poor  writer,  who  regrets  to  part  with 
them — who  feels  that  he  must  miss  their  silent  company  in  the 
long  hours  of  the  coming  autumn  nights.  Poor  puppets  of  the 
imagination !  some  may  say,  what's  all  this  mock  regret  ?  No, 
no !  not  only  of  the  imagination :  of  the  heart  as  well ! 

This  said,  all  is  said  ;  but,  perhaps,  a  few  words  of  the  after 
fate  of  Verty,  and  the  rest,  may  not  be  inappropriate. 

The  two  kind  hearts  which  loved  each  other  so — Verty  and 
Redbud — were  married  in  due  course  of  time  :  and  Ralph  and 
Fanny  too.  Miss  Lavinia  and  the  poet  of  chancery — Mistress 


CONCLUSION.  419 

O'Calligan  and  the  knight  of  the  shears — Miss  Sallianna  and  the 
unfortunate  Jinks — all  these  pairs,  ere  long,  were  united.  Mr. 
Jinks  perfected  his  revenge  upon  Miss  Sallianna,  as  he  thought, 
by  marrying  her — but,  we  believe,  the  result  of  his  revenge  was 
misery.  Mistress  O'Calligan  accepted  the  hand  of  Mr.  O'Bral- 
laghan,  upon  hearing  of  this  base  desertion ;  and  so,  the  desires  of 
all  were  accomplished — for  weal  or  woe. 

Besure,  ma  mere  lived  with  Verty  and  Reclbud  all  her  days 
thereafter ;  and  our  honest  Verty  often  mounted  Cloud,  and  went 
away,  on  bright  October  mornings,  to  the  hills,  and  visited  the 
old  hunting  lodge :  and  smoothing,  thoughtfully,  the  ancient 
head  of  Longears,  pondered  on  that  strange,  wild  dream  of  the 
far  past,  which  slowly  developed  itself  under  the  hand  of  Him, 
the  Author  and  Life,  indeed,  who  brought  the  light ! 

And  one  day,  standing  there  beside  the  old  hunting  lodge,  with 
Redbud,  Verty,  as  we  still  would  call  him,  pointed  to  the  skies, 
and  pressing,  with  his  encircling  arm,  the  young  form,  said, 
simply : 

"  How  good  and  merciful  He  was — to  give  me  all  this  happi 
ness — and  you  I" 


THE   END. 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 


OCTT2 


RECEIV 


LOAN  DEFfT. 


LD  21A-60w-7,'66 
(G4427slO)476B 


.General  Library 

Lmversity  of  California 

Berkeley 


